


It's Always Been You

by daughter_of_the_rain



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon Ships It, Comedic Situations, Communication, Domestic Fluff, Ep 6 Fix It, Family of Choice, Fix-It, Fluff, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Humour, Idiots in Love, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg Friendship, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Light Swearing, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nightmares, Pining, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Roach Ships It (The Witcher), Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, Softness, Valdo Marx makes an appearance, Wine Aunt Yennefer, Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg Ships It, witcher family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:13:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 48,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24655909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daughter_of_the_rain/pseuds/daughter_of_the_rain
Summary: In which Geralt and Jaskier don’t realise their feelings for each other are mutual for a very long time, to the frustration and amusement of those around them.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 39
Kudos: 196





	1. Geralt Figures Out What Roach Knew All Along

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO! WELCOME!  
> This is my first foray into writing literally anything, let alone a multi-chapter slow burn fanfic!  
> So of course, naturally, I wanted to do a fix-it/getting together thing. 
> 
> This is my first time writing at all, so please be kind, and please, if you enjoy my writing style, and you have an idea for something else you'd enjoy, let me know! I have a few other ideas but I want to see how this one goes!
> 
> Inspired by this Tumblr post:  
> There’s something nice about reading mutual pining, friends-to-lovers fanfics where there’s very little in the way of angst. When it’s “will they or won’t they” and then they do without being an idiot and/or hurting each other. Sometimes I want to read the angst, but sometimes I just love it when it’s uncomplicated. When the characters don’t have to tear their soul in half for answers but can just reach out and find they’ve already been met in the middle.  
> https://mystic-majestic.tumblr.com/post/619085276921331712/theres-something-nice-about-reading-mutual
> 
> And also inspired by wanting to use specific show moments to help aid the story!
> 
> ENJOY! :)
> 
> PS: Content Warnings will be in the End Notes, if there are any.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt had done a lot of thinking. A lot.
> 
> Considering all the peace and quiet he had now, there wasn’t much else to do.
> 
> Except for talk to Roach, but that was essentially thinking out loud.

Geralt had done a lot of thinking. A lot. 

Considering all the peace and quiet he had now, there wasn’t much else to do. 

Except for talk to Roach, but that was essentially thinking out loud. 

He couldn’t stop mulling over what he had said to Jaskier. Even though the bard got on his nerves a fair amount, he was also a considerate friend, one of his only constant and true friends besides the other Witchers. Jaskier had been by his side for 20 years, had burst into his life like a ray of sunshine that adamantly refused to stop beaming. He had created a new image for Geralt, one where Geralt didn’t get pelted by stones and insults as he went through a village, where he earned good coin for the monsters he killed, and where more often people respected him rather than feared him. Jaskier smiled openly at him, was never afraid of him, listened to him, touched him with gentle care and without fear, sewed up his wounds, cleaned the blood and guts from his hair, and yelled at those who dared to insult the Witcher. 

Geralt continued to feel shame for the way he had kept treating Jaskier. But, in truth, it terrified him to get close to the bard. His track record with other humans had mostly involved nothing but pain. His own mother had left him to the Witchers, and his life had involved mostly pain and suffering at the hands of the humans that he was tasked to help. He was scared that opening up to Jaskier would give Jaskier too much power over him, even though the bard proved his earnest and steadfast nature constantly. Instead of allowing himself to trust that, he tried to push the bard away. Answered with noncommittal hums and grunts instead of the sentences he wanted to answer with. Shied away from his touch, and from his care, no matter how much he actually enjoyed it. 

But truly pushing Jaskier away, especially in the way that he did it, was the worst thing Geralt had ever done to him. 

That fucking mountain. Geralt would be glad to never see that particular mountain range ever again.

Geralt could see the spiralling disaster that him and Yennefer were turning out to be. Anyone could probably see it from a mile away. They would meet, fuck, argue and then she’d leave. It was a cycle that kept repeating. But there was a spark, an energy that had kept drawing him to Yennefer. She was fascinating – powerful, independent, strong. When Yennefer had let him a bit closer, opened up, he had allowed it without question, and let himself be vulnerable. Jaskier had been trying to give him the space to be vulnerable for two decades, and yet the second Yen had given him the chance, he had done it, thinking that it might be the key to breaking the cycle. It wasn’t. His mistakes cost him Yen’s trust forever. When Yen walked away down the mountain, at the time Geralt felt like a part of him had been ripped away from the whole. He looked at Borch. “You wanted to show me what I was missing… there she goes.” 

Borch had stood up, and responded. “What you’re missing is still out there. Your legacy. Your destiny. I know it. And you know it.” When Borch had said that, he could see Jaskier behind Borch’s shoulder, looking and listening intently, quiet, caring, constant. As he looked, he had felt another rush of desire, similar to earlier when Jaskier had suggested they go to the coast, and couldn’t help but think that perhaps what he had been missing was Jaskier. 

That rush of desire for Jaskier terrified him. It felt bigger than his desire had ever been for Yen, and it pushed him to make it final, seal the deal and push Jaskier away too. Jaskier didn’t deserve his words, he didn’t deserve any of the blame. Jaskier might have spoken the wrong words at the wrong time, it wasn’t really the time to make light of the situation, but he wasn’t responsible for Geralt’s mistakes, Geralt was. 

As Geralt listened to Jaskier’s footsteps walk away, he was hit by a wave of guilt and shame. The realisation that he had truly pushed everyone away this time, and the loneliness that accompanied that made him feel even worse. It took all his willpower not to call out to Jaskier, to ask him to help, knowing that if he only asked, Jaskier would listen. But he forced his jaw to stay closed with all his strength. He forced himself to stand strong, all his muscles strung tight with tension. 

Once he knew Jaskier was far enough away not to hear anything, when he could no longer hear his footsteps, Geralt slumped and sat on the nearest rock, and buried his head in his hands in exhaustion, all the adrenaline burned from his body. He made himself wait until he could be sure he wouldn’t run into anyone, then he had gotten up, dusted himself off, retrieved Roach from camp and began making his trek down the mountain. 

Geralt forced himself to keep on going, taking as many contracts as he could find, hoping the kills would ease the anger inside him. When the anger burned away, he could only feel the guilt and the shame, and that was a thousand times worse. So he distracted himself. Get to the next town. Take the contract. Kill the monster. Collect the coin. Leave. On, and on. 

When he went back to Kaer Morhen for the winter, he was afraid of what pausing and resting would do. He had managed to hold himself together through sheer determination and distraction, and the adjustment to the routines of winter was hard. His brothers, Eskel and Lambert, were visibly concerned for Geralt. He tried to throw himself into training and fixing up the keep as much as possible, but it came to a head when Geralt had nearly accidentally hurt Lambert during a training session, when he had gotten particularly heated. Geralt dropped his sword and slumped down to the ground when he realised Lambert was okay, and fell apart. Lambert and Eskel immediately came to him, held him until the shaking had stopped long enough to get up, then brought him inside to the hall, and gotten him to talk. 

He refused to tell them the exact words he’d actually said to Jaskier. He couldn’t bring himself to repeat them, with the guilt coursing through him. But he tried to tell them as much as he could bring himself to say, talking through what had happened with Yen, and the djinn, and of Jaskier. They were empathetic; they listened, drank with him that night, helped him nurse his truly heinous hangover the next day, and then helped him pull himself together. He would be forever grateful to Eskel and Lambert for that. 

One day as they had mucked out the stables, Eskel brought up Jaskier, assuring Geralt that from his descriptions of the bard, Jaskier would forgive Geralt if he asked for it. If he told him that he’d lashed out, and apologised, surely Jaskier could forgive Geralt. It would be okay, Eskel had said quietly.

But Geralt didn’t know if it was possible this time. Could Jaskier forgive this? And if so, did he really want Jaskier to come back to this mess of a life Geralt lived? The bard had been a part of Geralt’s life for 20 years. Surely Jaskier wanted more than to follow around an old Witcher every now and then, make some songs about terrifying monsters, try to make the world see him as some sort of mythic hero, and have several near-death experiences. Oxenfurt was clearly a better place for him: safe and clean, a steady income education teaching young students about music. Not to mention that Jaskier was a Viscount. How could an old, grizzled Witcher be any good for a young, bright man with so much life to live? Jaskier deserved more. Geralt wasn’t sure he was good company to keep.

***

Three years passed for Geralt, in which he tried to keep himself distracted, continued to take as many contracts as possible, and avoided thoughts of and mentions of bards in general, trying to avoid thinking of Jaskier as much as he could. Which was certainly hard on the road. With only Roach for company now, Geralt couldn’t stop thinking of the silence being filled by Jaskier’s chatter, his conversation, or making up new compositions on his lute. His nightmares had begun to plague him too, giving him visions of the bard in trouble, captured by Nilfgaard, being tortured by a mage, killed by a random wandering monster, suffering all manner of horrible deaths. 

It had just turned into spring, and Geralt was heading south, away from Kaer Morhen, after the fourth winter since the mountain. Eskel and Lambert had been sad that Geralt still hadn’t sought out the bard and apologised, saying it would help Geralt finally stop worrying. Geralt had begun to wonder if it was time too, though he couldn’t bring himself to admit as much to them. He just wasn’t sure. 

He’d made camp just after leaving Ard Carraigh a day ago, and was asleep near his small fire. After one gruesome dream where Jaskier was slowly tortured to death by Nilfgaard, Geralt woke, sweating, instinct making him grab for his sword beside him, before realising that it was just another nightmare. Geralt collapsed back into his bedroll, and swore, frustrated by the visions that kept plaguing him. Roach huffed with concern from nearby where she was tied up to a tree.

“It’s alright, Roach. Another nightmare.” Roach huffed again, responding to Geralt’s voice. 

Geralt answered her. It comforted him to talk to her, his only source of conversation nowadays. “Nilfgaard had Jaskier tied up in a chair, were torturing him again. They were breaking his fingers.” It had been horrifying, watching Jaskier’s profession disappear before his eyes. His hands and his voice were the two most important things required for being a bard. Geralt had nearly been the cause of one being destroyed, because of his reckless wish. 

Geralt gave sleep up as a lost cause, seeing the first signs of dawn approaching in the sky. He couldn’t sleep when all he could picture was the nightmare. He rolled up his bedroll and went over to Roach, attaching it to her packs. 

“It changes every time, but it’s always Jaskier. Never Yen. Never Ciri.” Roach bumped his chest with her nose in greeting as he pet her. 

Why did he never have nightmares for the others? Geralt pondered as he patted Roach. Geralt knew that part of it was that Yen was a sorceress; she could clearly take care of herself. It was why Geralt was initially interested in her – her power, her strength, her independence. Geralt could trust that she was safe, knew that she knew how to handle herself.

That didn’t exactly explain the lack of fear for Ciri. Ciri was a young girl. She wouldn’t be able to protect herself. However, with Calanthe as a Queen and grandmother Geralt was sure that she was getting the best care and protection, much better than Geralt could offer currently. No, though Geralt couldn’t check, Calanthe was a proud lioness, she would look after her own family with strength. Even with the possible threat of Nilfgaard, until Geralt could see Ciri, she was in the best place possible.

Jaskier, however… Jaskier was human. He was witty and smart, and did at least know how to handle smaller weapons like daggers – Geralt had made sure of that when he could see that Jaskier wasn’t going to leave him – but Jaskier was human, a human who could occasionally get himself into trouble just through the power of speech. How could Geralt protect him if he wasn’t around? Geralt had no idea where the bard had been these past four years, even though he’d been itching to check. And even if Jaskier often got into more trouble in Geralt’s presence, Geralt could always get him out of that trouble. Geralt wanted to protect Jaskier, to take care of him, to know he was safe. 

He couldn’t stop picturing the dream. Jaskier, crying out in pain. It was becoming synonymous with his waking thoughts about him, not just existing in the world of his dreams. What if the bard really was in trouble? Geralt would never be able to know, until it was possibly too late. Geralt could picture the soldiers of Nilfgaard, laughing at Jaskier’s pain. He wanted to take his sword and run them all through, so that no one but him would get to touch the bard. Jaskier was his, his alone, Geralt needed to keep him safe, with his innocent bright eyes and wonderful smile- 

Oh. That was why his nightmares were only about Jaskier. “Fuck.”

When did that happen? Well, that seemed to explain a lot. Geralt… Geralt cared about Jaskier. Things locked into place, shifted as he realised that his perception of Jaskier had slowly changed over the 20 years they had known each other. Why did Geralt feel an overwhelming need to protect Jaskier at every turn? Why did he get flutters of excitement whenever Jaskier touched him in his gentle, caring way? Why did Geralt feel terrified of letting Jaskier close, of letting Jaskier hear him speak his innermost thoughts? He knew he could trust Jaskier. But opening up about one thing could lead to another, and another. Once started, he would feel powerless, unable to deny Jaskier if he wanted everything. He wanted give him everything.

Geralt had pushed Jaskier away because he cared about him. As more than friends. As… as someone to wake up next to, to touch gently, to fuss over, to protect and shield from the world. Geralt wanted to hold Jaskier in his arms, to apologise for every hurt he’d ever caused the bard, and open up, give Jaskier all of him. Wanted Jaskier to be the only one to see this part of him. Wanted to trust him, and for Jaskier to know he could trust Geralt in return. 

Was it… love? That seemed like a huge word. He’d never tied it to Jaskier before. He had difficulty even with the word itself, sometimes. But maybe … it felt like the right one. Love. Geralt loved the bard. He had pushed Jaskier away because he’d fallen in love with the bard. Fuck. 

“Roach, when were you going to tell me?” He said to her gently as he came back to the present. “You’re the smart one here, when did I fall in love with Jaskier?”

Roach just whinnied in response. Geralt was sure she was making fun of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first time writing at all, so please be kind!
> 
> If you enjoy my writing style, and you have an idea for something else you'd enjoy, let me know!
> 
> I thought I'd post a few chapters straight up, coz I've been working on this for a couple weeks now, and things start to get truly fun around Chapter 4 onwards anyway :)
> 
> CW for Ch1: Brief mentions of nightmares, torture by Nilfgaard. To skip the specifics, skip the paragraph that starts with "Geralt answered her. It comforted him to talk to her, his only source of conversation nowadays."


	2. Lilac and Gooseberries and Smug Expressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt has a long-needed talk with Yennefer, and Yennefer offers some advice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO! WELCOME!  
> This is my first foray into writing literally anything, let alone a multi-chapter slow burn fanfic!  
> So of course, naturally, I wanted to do a fix-it/getting together thing.
> 
> This is my first time writing at all, so please be kind, and please, if you enjoy my writing style, and you have an idea for something else you'd enjoy, let me know! 
> 
> Inspired by this Tumblr post:  
> https://mystic-majestic.tumblr.com/post/619085276921331712/theres-something-nice-about-reading-mutual
> 
> And also inspired by wanting to use specific show moments to help aid the story!
> 
> ENJOY! :)

Geralt kept on with his contracts for another month, heading southwest, until one brought him to a small town near Rinde. He could tell she was there as soon as he passed by a couple of buildings – the familiar smell of lilac and gooseberries permeated the street and hit him like a stone slab to the face. Yennefer.

Geralt hadn’t been purposely avoiding Yennefer like he had been avoiding Jaskier. He knew that if she wanted, Yen could disappear from him with ease, portal away at the drop of a hat. But this opportunity to speak to her, to finally try and make amends was too good to pass. If he was considering trying to apologise to Jaskier, he knew he should definitely apologise to Yen as well. She deserved it, after what he had done.

He changed his route and followed her scent till it led to a modest cottage on the edge of the town. It was one story, but had decent size and a couple of rooms to it. A fence surrounded the property, with a small, clean garden. As he got closer, Yen opened the door and led out a couple, who were clearly pleased with her service, and she waved them off. As she turned around to go back into the house, she glanced in his direction and paused, spotting him. Her violet eyes widened in shock, before she schooled them into a blank expression. 

“Yen.”

Yennefer turned around to face him fully. She wasn’t running away, that was a good start.  
“Geralt.” She looked good, in her signature black, a long dress. She looked cautious, but she stayed, waiting. 

“I want to apologise.” Yen’s expression closed off. Ah shit, not a good sign.

“That won’t fix what you did-“

“I know.” Geralt cut her off, heading off a train of thought that would get them nowhere. “I can’t fix what I did. I took away your choice, and that was wrong. I know that now.” He paused, trying to decide what he wanted to say, how he could make it clear to her. “I’m sorry for the pain I caused you. Truly, Yen.”

Yen seemed to ponder his apology for a time, pausing and thinking. She looked sad as she looked back at him, reaching some decision. “I don’t think we can trust what we have, Geralt.”

Geralt felt a little sad, but he had accepted this long ago. It was even clearer to him since he’d finally figured out his feelings for Jaskier. They changed things between him and Yennefer, definitively. “It’s okay. I want something that I know is real. And we’d never know.”

“Then why are you here?” Yen shifted on her feet, a guarded look in her eyes, but questioning, and curious. 

“I… I still want you in my life. I know that’s real. We don’t work together… maybe we never really did. We kept hurting each other. We may not be destined to be together. But… I hope we could be something new. Friends, perhaps.”

Yen sighed, seemed to relax somewhat, and stepped away from the door, closer to Geralt where he waited beyond the fence. “I want you in my life too. Not romantically. Or sexually.” She seemed to add as an afterthought. 

“Mm.” Geralt nodded in agreement. 

“But… friends could work. We live long lives, Geralt. Hatred can last a long time. But friends seems like a better choice for us.”

Geralt felt a tightness in his chest release that he hadn’t been aware of in the first place. He didn’t want to have Yen hate him for eternity. Friends sounded good. Much less complicated and confusing, it meant Yen and Geralt could be there for each other with no strings attached, no mess between themselves. He nodded. “Friends it is.” He smiled, small but genuine. 

“Good.” Yen smiled back, and with that, swept away from him, towards the house. She paused as she got to the front door. “Want to come in for a drink? We could catch up on where you’ve been these last four years.”

Geralt hummed and nodded in agreement and began tying Roach to the fence surrounding the cottage. He unpacked his bags from Roach’s saddle and brought them in with him, to give Roach a break from the weight. He gifted her an apple before he went in, and she took it gratefully, snuffling gently at his hand. “Good girl, Roach.”

When he headed in, Yen was already seated at a small table, with a bottle of wine and two glasses set in front of her. “Thought you could use something to take the edge off. I’ll be honest, Geralt, you look run off your feet.”

Geralt wasn’t surprised she had noticed, nothing escaped Yen’s shrewd gaze. “I haven’t been sleeping well. Nightmares.” Geralt placed his packs in the nearest corner and made his way to the table.

Geralt sat down, and Yen opened the bottle and poured them each a glass, a small frown of concern crossing her features. “Any particular reason?”

Geralt took his glass, and began to think. How did he describe what had happened? Seeing as she was concerned, she’d probably try to push until he told the truth. It had been four years. Geralt felt like he finally wanted to talk about what had happened, and figure it out. He wasn’t having much success on his own, and Yen did want to be friends. Maybe she could help him fix this mess. “I… I yelled at Jaskier. Pushed him away. After our argument on the mountain.”

Yen raised her eyebrows. “On the mountain?” Geralt nodded. “And he left? That doesn’t sound like your bard. He usually hangs around like a bad smell.”

“Yen. Be nice.” Geralt frowned. “He’s not my bard. And this time he didn’t stay. I don’t blame him. I said awful things.” Geralt took a sip of his wine. It was harder to talk about this than he thought. It made the feelings of guilt rise to the surface again. 

Yen leant over the table and gently grasped his hand. She looked sympathetic. “What did you say?”

Geralt swallowed another gulp of the wine and placed the glass down on the table. He looked at their grasped hands, frowning, trying to find the words. Yen gently squeezed his hand and said, “It’s okay, Geralt. We make mistakes. We say things we don’t mean. If you don’t want to tell me, it’s okay.”

Continuing to frown, struggling to talk, Geralt looked up at her violet eyes. “I fucked up, Yen. I blamed him for all my problems, the djinn, Ciri. I told him it would be a blessing for him to be taken off my hands, to be out of my life.”  
Yen visibly blinked in shock.  
“I know. It was unfair. He said as much.” Geralt paused at the memory of Jaskier almost whispering those words, shocked and hurt. “I could have taken it back, but I didn’t. It was shit of me. All those situations… he was the one telling me no. And I didn’t listen to him. And made it worse by blaming him.”

Yen pondered what he said for a long while, as she took a sip of her wine. ”Do you want to? Take back what you said, I mean.”

“Yes.” Geralt answered without hesitation. 

Yennefer frowned then, thinking. “Geralt, how does this relate to your nightmares exactly?”

“I keep seeing him in them, in trouble. In various different ways. And I can’t stop them. I keep seeing him, crying out in pain. I can’t stop them.” Geralt growled out the last words as he felt an uncomfortable weight settling in his stomach, the flashes of his nightmares coming back to him, unbidden.

Yen squeezed his hand again, bringing him back to the present. “Well, there’s an obvious solution, Geralt. You know what it is. And you haven’t taken it. ” She said, not unkindly. “So why haven’t you apologised?”

Ah. Here was the difficult part. “When it happened… in that moment I was afraid, and I lashed out at him. I regretted it straight away, but I wanted to push him away. Keep him safe, away from me. But then I realised I… I pushed him away because… fuck. Look, Yen, it’s… try not to laugh, okay?”

Yen looked confused, but nodded and waited for him to continue. Fuck, Geralt repeated internally. Geralt looked down at the table, so he could make it through what he needed to say without stopping. He didn’t want to see Yen’s expression whilst he told her the truth.

“I spent three years trying not to think about him. I tried accepting that I pushed him away for good. But I kept having the nightmares. And then, last month… I had a nightmare that he was tortured by Nilfgaard and woke up sweating. I couldn’t figure out why I wasn’t having nightmares about anyone else, and why they were affecting me so much. And then it hit me. I… care about him. I don’t want him to get hurt. I didn’t want to let him close all that time, because if I did, he’d… he’d have all of me. I’d want to give him everything. Yen, I love him. Jaskier.” 

There was a long silence. Geralt eventually looked up from where his and Yen’s hands were still clasped on the table. Yen was staring at him with wide eyes, unnervingly. He couldn’t figure out what to say, so he waited for her response with held breath. Then, she smiled. “Brilliant.” She pulled her hand away to lean back in her chair, looking pleased. 

“You’re not mad?” He frowned, a little confused. 

Yennefer shook her head, still smiling. “No. Geralt, it’s been four years, I’ve moved on with my life. Only right that you should too.” Then her grin widened. “And it’s about time you realised. I had a feeling when I first met you two that there was something between you and the bard.” 

Geralt felt even more confused. “You did? I only knew a month ago.”

Yen raised an eyebrow, still grinning. “I am much smarter than you, Geralt. And besides, it makes sense. Why you kept him around for so long, for example. You complained about him, and yet you could never actually leave. You brought him to me begging for me to save him. And when I asked if he was a friend, you couldn’t commit to the word. Maybe because it wasn’t the right one?” Geralt couldn’t argue with that. Yen’s smile softened. “It’s sweet. I’m happy for you, Geralt.”

“Why? He doesn’t love me back.” Geralt doubted Jaskier ever would now, with how Geralt had treated him. 

“Well, how do you know? Have you tried apologising, then admitting your feelings?” Yen grabbed her wine and sat back in her chair again, one eyebrow raised, a smug look to her eyes. As if it was that easy. Geralt was getting the feeling Yen was enjoying this way too much. 

“He might not even accept the apology.” 

“You’ll never know until you try.” Yen said softly. “Geralt, so much of your life has been full of pain. Isn’t it time you had some pleasure? He’s not like us, Geralt. He only has so much time on this Earth. And he chose to follow you around for 20 years. That counts for something.”

Geralt couldn’t deny that was true. Jaskier must have cared about Geralt in some way to stay with him for so long, no matter what Geralt did. And no matter the trials Jaskier faced, standing with a Witcher that the rest of the world hated, sincerely calling that Witcher his friend. “So I apologise, and he accepts. Then what?”

“You stick around, give it time, and make it clear that you have changed, that you don’t want to keep pushing him away anymore. You make promises, and keep them. You let him in, you open up to him. Then, you tell him how you feel, and see what he says.”

Geralt pondered that. It seemed like a good plan. But what if the apology didn’t even work? Geralt had seen the pain in Jaskier’s eyes as he had shouted at him. 

“I’ll start with apologising. See if he accepts that. Can’t hope for much beyond that.”

Yen had a sad look to her eyes. “You are allowed to hope, Geralt.” She stood, grabbed their now empty glasses and took them to her sink, and then paused. She turned to her left, towards him. “Why don’t you stay in the spare room here, for tonight? Spares you coin, and then tomorrow you can start heading towards the bard. I’ll even help you track him down.”

Geralt nodded. It would help to save the coin, and with Yen’s help tracking the bard down, he wouldn’t have to waste time trying to find him. He’d already taken too long. “Thanks, Yen.” He headed back out to Roach to take off her saddle and brush her down. It gave him time to think.

Jaskier, even if he didn’t accept it, did at least deserve to hear his apology. Geralt didn’t want Jaskier thinking that he was truly glad to be rid of him, as his last words made it seem. 

An apology. He could do an apology. He kept thinking about what he’d done wrong anyway, he knew the rough words he wanted to say. And he could think about it as he tracked the bard down. 

After that, Geralt wasn’t sure. Yen might be right. Open up to him. Keep his promises. Keep him safe. Geralt wouldn’t hope for more than that right now. 

But he could start with apologising.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first time writing at all, so please be kind!
> 
> If you enjoy my writing style, and you have an idea for something else you'd enjoy, let me know!
> 
> I thought I'd post a few chapters straight up, coz I've been working on this for a couple weeks now, and things start to get truly fun around Chapter 4 onwards anyway :)


	3. You Lead, I'll Follow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Had Jaskier been less muddled up in his thoughts, and in playing his lute, he might have noticed the sound of hooves sooner. When the sound startled him out of his musings, he looked up and saw the last person he expected to see: Geralt, walking directly towards him, Roach beside him. Jaskier, startled, got to his feet in a rush, and stared at Geralt. What?
> 
> ***
> 
> Jaskier gets a surprise. Apologies happen. Communication happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO! WELCOME!  
> This is my first foray into writing literally anything, let alone a multi-chapter slow burn fanfic!  
> So of course, naturally, I wanted to do a fix-it/getting together thing.
> 
> This is my first time writing at all, so please be kind, and please, if you enjoy my writing style, and you have an idea for something else you'd enjoy, let me know! I have a few other ideas but I want to see how this one goes!
> 
> Inspired by this Tumblr post:  
> https://mystic-majestic.tumblr.com/post/619085276921331712/theres-something-nice-about-reading-mutual
> 
> And also inspired by wanting to use specific show moments to help aid the story!
> 
> ENJOY! :)
> 
> PS: Content Warnings will be in the End Notes, if there are any.

Jaskier was seated near the banks of the river north of Vizima, eating a quiet lunch. He’d just left Vizima where he’d been playing at a banquet for an old friend’s birthday, who had sent him a letter requesting his presence during his wintering at Oxenfurt. Jaskier had just finished his lunch, and sat gently playing his lute as his thoughts bounced around in his head, trying to decide where to head next, now that the only formally requested function he’d had lined up this coming year was complete. 

Jaskier had struggled for the first year after the mountain. He’d made a very good appearance of not caring to the rest of the world, attending every possible feast he could, visiting his family and friends, winning competitions, playing at every inn and party he was able to. He kept himself busy, made use of his freedom to travel wherever he wanted, play wherever he chose. But it was exhausting, to perform not only as a bard, but in his real life too, to try and seem like things were perfectly fine, and it didn’t stop the intrusion of unwanted thoughts, especially since so many of his popular compositions were about Geralt and his adventures. 

After he had taken the time to think about it… well, Jaskier still wasn’t sure what to think. Geralt had lashed out before, had taken his frustration out on Jaskier before, but he had never said harsh words like that before. It seemed like a shift in the relationship they had built previously. 

Geralt was a good man, despite the world’s view of him, and despite some of his words. Geralt wouldn’t have travelled with Jaskier alongside him for 20 years if he truly hated him; he would have just abandoned Jaskier after Posada and the elves. No, Geralt, for all his grumbling and insults, did consider Jaskier enough of a friend.

Jaskier wasn’t sure when he’d stopped thinking of Geralt as just a friend, had started seeing more. It had happened slowly, gradually. He’d found himself noticing small things, like the occasional fond smile Geralt would give him, the way that Geralt barely allowed anyone else to touch him and yet allowed Jaskier closer than anyone else in his life, even if he outwardly grumbled about it. Jaskier could see the goodness in Geralt, the way he protected the bard even though he didn’t have to, took the time to teach Jaskier to wield a dagger, to keep himself safe, growled at those who tried to hurt him. He was in the middle of it before he had realised consciously that what he was feeling was love. The mountain was where Jaskier had desperately tried to put his feelings into words, when he could see that Geralt was clearly in pain and needed help. Maybe if they got away, Geralt could breathe again. They could escape together. 

Jaskier wasn’t stupid; he knew now that he probably had been tactless with his words after Yen and Borch had walked off. He’d assumed Geralt wanted to just forget the situation, to not talk about it, but brush it off, like they’d done so many times before when Yen had left Geralt. But something was clearly different this time, with this argument, and he hadn’t noticed, he hadn’t configured that into his response. Hadn’t given Geralt space.

But Geralt’s words… they had hurt him. They made him feel like everything they’d been, everything they’d had together for two decades was erased in one sentence, devalued. So Jaskier had left, giving Geralt the space he needed. He’d hoped Geralt would come and find him eventually, and apologise, and they’d figure it out. They’d done it before, even if Geralt hadn’t exactly used words to apologise. Words weren’t his specialty. 

But, after a year of travelling, and still no apology from Geralt, it had been hard to keep believing that Geralt would show. The lack of apology and closure was what hurt the most. They’d argued and fixed things before. Why didn’t Geralt want to this time? Did he really not want Jaskier around? Did he feel glad to finally be rid of Jaskier? It was like a puzzle he couldn’t figure out because he didn’t have all the pieces. What had he done or said this time that had made Geralt say those words? Why had Geralt blamed him for problems that were distinctly Geralt’s own fault? 

And Geralt was a Witcher. It wouldn’t exactly be hard for him to track Jaskier down. Jaskier did make quite the noise throughout the world, after all, his songs following him everywhere, and the constant drama he seemed to find himself in. After the first year, Jaskier had simply stopped believing that Geralt cared about him. Had started to truly believe that Geralt didn’t want him around, was glad to be rid of him, with no sign to the contrary. So, instead, he very pointedly did not think about the Witcher. No point trying to push in where you weren’t wanted. 

Jaskier travelled the Continent, and continued to have great success; winning bardic competitions, playing the most prestigious feasts and banquets in the land, being a guest lecturer at Oxenfurt every winter for the past four years, and doing perfectly well for himself, thank you very much. 

Had Jaskier been less muddled up in his thoughts, and in playing his lute, he might have noticed the sound of hooves sooner. When the sound startled him out of his musings, he looked up and saw the last person he expected to see: Geralt, walking directly towards him, Roach beside him. Jaskier, startled, got to his feet in a rush, and stared at Geralt. What?

***

Once Yennefer had figured out that Jaskier had just made it to Vizima, Geralt had thanked Yen, left immediately, and headed straight to Vizima from north of Rinde. Geralt had ridden hard and barely rested, and all the while had tried hard, desperately hard to think of what he wanted to say to Jaskier. Sorry wasn’t simply enough, that much he knew. So he’d planned out what he wanted to say. Words weren’t his strong suit. I’m sorry. What I said was unfair and untrue. I want you in my life. I’m going to try to be better. I shouldn’t have pushed you away. 

All that went out the window the minute he saw Jaskier. His eyes were staring down at the river in front of him, deep in thought, plucking away at the strings of his lute. He had a small horse tied up to a tree near him, a white and grey speckled male. He looked good, healthy; in a royal blue doublet that Geralt was sure would bring out the sparkle in his eyes.

Geralt… well, Geralt felt a bit worse for wear, rough around the edges. He’d kept himself clean as possible, wanting to put his best foot forward, so to speak. But the past days of hard riding and even more frequent nightmares due to his nerves hadn’t helped at all. Geralt felt strung taut, like a bowstring. It had been a while since he’d felt nerves in this way, nearly incapacitating. He didn’t want to make a mess of this, as he’d only get one chance. He felt jittery and out of sorts, as he quietly got off Roach’s back before approaching Jaskier. 

Startled by the sound of footsteps crunching in the grass near him, Jaskier looked up towards the sound, and froze, his blue eyes piercing Geralt. Gods, those bright blue eyes. Geralt felt another deep twist of guilt at the surprise, confusion, shock and hurt in them, as Jaskier scrambled to his feet. He pulled Roach to a stop, not wanting to push further into Jaskier’s space. He needed to make sure Jaskier would have the space and freedom to do what he wanted. Even if it was to get on his horse and gallop far away from Geralt. 

“Jaskier.” His deep voice grumbled, breaking the silence. Well, that was a start.

***

“Geralt.” What? What on the Continent was Geralt doing here?

“Jaskier, I… may I sit with you? I want to talk.”

“Uh…” Jaskier’s brain had frozen. He’d thought if he’d eventually run into Geralt again, he could come up with something witty to say. Instead, his mouth felt dry, like the insides had been coated with sand. And Geralt… Geralt didn’t have his tough outer layer on, his outer shell Jaskier knew he wore to keep the world out. Instead, he seemed… nervous? Tentative. Anxious. Jaskier felt those things too. Jaskier was scared. But he hoped. How truly he hoped. 

“Geralt…” Before Jaskier could find his words, however, Geralt cut in.

“I know you mustn’t want to see me. But I came to find you. Jaskier, please… give me a chance.”

“I…” Jaskier wasn’t sure. Dimly, his subconscious snarkily responded with he’s gotten a lot of chances, but Geralt had never outright asked for one last chance. Geralt didn’t usually allow himself to look this sincere, this… vulnerable. Open. It blindsided Jaskier. 

“Okay. Sit down.” Jaskier sat back down and placed his lute to his left, inviting Geralt to sit on the grass to his right. Then he looked away towards the water, trying to prepare himself.

Geralt tied up Roach to the same tree Potato was tied to, and walked back to sit near Jaskier. They sat side by side for a time, neither one sure what to say. Geralt broke the silence first. 

“Jaskier… I’m sorry. What I said to you was cruel. I… you were right. It wasn’t fair. I knew that the moment I said it.” Geralt said quietly, looking at him, golden eyes staring intently. 

“If you knew, then, why didn’t you take it back?” Jaskier felt his voice tremble a little, but held it together. Internally, he felt severely unbalanced. “Why leave it four years? I thought you meant it-” 

“I didn’t. I don’t. Life without you, it’s not a blessing. Jaskier, I… you didn’t… you weren’t the problem.” Geralt paused, taking a deep breath. “Look, I’m terrible at this. You’re the one who’s good with words. But I can’t keep doing things the way I’ve done them. I want to try again. And be better. Please.”

Jaskier looked at Geralt, thinking, assessing. Geralt was pleading with him. He wasn’t sure when he’d heard him sound so earnest. Maybe never. And he seemed hesitant, unsure, like he thought for sure that Jaskier would reject him. Fuck. Jaskier wanted to fix this too. He sighed. “You can’t treat me like that again, Geralt. I know now I got on your nerves, but I didn’t deserve what you said. Things need to change.”

Geralt’s head immediately perked up, with a hopeful look in his golden eyes, and a lightness Jaskier hadn’t seen in a while. “You’re giving me a chance?”

Jaskier couldn’t help smiling a little. “Yes. I want to fix this too. But Geralt, we can’t do things the way we did them before. I’m tired of being bitten at for trying to help you. If you want this, you have to give me a chance to truly be a part of your life.” 

Geralt nodded quickly. “I know. I’m going to try.” 

“Good. Me too.” Jaskier promised openly. 

Geralt frowned, confused. “Why? I was the cause of this.”

Jaskier smiled gently at his confusion, but pressed on, “Geralt, I did also push you at the wrong point. I should have read things better and given you space. Yes, your words weren’t fair, but the argument between you and Yen was different than before, I should’ve seen that.” Jaskier paused. Geralt seemed thoughtful, but he nodded. “Speaking of, how’s our semi-violent violet sorceress?” Jaskier asked, trying to put some of his usual flourish back into his voice. 

“She’s good. I just left her near Rinde. She helped me figure out where you were.”

Jaskier raised an eyebrow at that. “You used a sorceress to locate me? That’s cheating, Geralt!”

Geralt shrugged at Jaskier, a small smile pulling at his lips, knowing the bard wasn’t being serious. “I didn’t want to waste time once I’d finally made up my mind to find you. Besides, she offered.” Yennefer offered Geralt help in finding him, so that Geralt could apologise? That was interesting. 

“And… what’s happening with you two?” Jaskier gently pushed. 

“We agreed that after everything, we didn’t work together. We’re trying to be friends instead. We didn’t… couldn’t trust that what we had would ever be real. Not after the wish. I didn’t want that. Friends… is better. I prefer it.” Geralt did look calmer talking about Yennefer than he ever had, no conflicting thoughts, no internal debate or stress. 

Jaskier felt a tension release from him. “Good. That’s good.” Geralt raised an eyebrow at the obvious relief Jaskier he could see on the bard. “Geralt, I don’t hate her. Don’t tell her, she’d never let me live it down, but she’s a very fascinating woman.” Geralt huffed in amusement. “But you and her… it wasn’t right. It was painful, unpleasant. Friends makes much more sense.”

Geralt nodded gently. “It’s much easier.” They both quieted, thinking. Geralt turned his head to stare out at the river. Jaskier took the chance to look more closely at Geralt, now that he felt comfortable in his presence again, now that they’d figured things out. His hair was tied back in his normal half-up style, his black armour flecked with dust and mud from the road. Jaskier trailed his eyes up to his face, and frowned at the dark circles under his eyes. “Geralt,” he said quietly, “are you okay? You look you haven’t slept in a week.”

Geralt stiffened at that. Oops, he’d touched a sensitive subject then. He turned to Jaskier, a small frown on his face. But he didn’t look angry, just frustrated. “I have slept. Just not well. Nightmares.” 

“Nightmares?” Jaskier asked. Geralt had nightmares occasionally. It made sense; Geralt had lived a harsh life. But constant nightmares weren’t normal for Geralt.

“I’ll be fine, Jaskier. It just got worse this week. Probably because I was trying to find you before you left Vizima. They’ll ease up.” Geralt quickly looked back out at the water, the conversation clearly closed for Geralt. 

Jaskier felt a bit puzzled. How did the two things relate? Unless they were related to him somehow. But he didn’t want to push. They needed to get used to each other again, figure out how to act with each other again. It wouldn’t help them for Jaskier to push at a sensitive point.

Instead, Jaskier nodded, and decided to stand up, picking his lute up as he went. “Shall we start heading out then?”

Geralt hummed in agreement, standing up. “Where were you headed?”

“I hadn’t decided yet,” Jaskier answered honestly. He faced Geralt, who was simply standing, waiting. Jaskier was confused. “Isn’t this normally where you chime in with a ‘there’s rumour of a griffin near Maribor’ or something?”

Geralt raised one eyebrow, looking amused. “Thought it would be better this time for you to choose the direction.” 

Jaskier didn’t know what to say to that. He blinked a couple of times in confusion. “But… it’s the Path. You follow the Path, I follow you. Gods my dear Witcher, I know it’s been four years but I didn’t think you’d forget everything about our routine!” 

Geralt chuckled at this. “Monsters exist everywhere, bard, I’m sure wherever you decide to head, I’ll be able to find contracts. This time, you lead, I’ll follow.” Jaskier was thrown for a loop. Though Geralt was right, monsters did seem to find them wherever they went. Call it luck, Jaskier thought to himself sardonically. 

“Okay, umm…” Where did Jaskier want to go? “Why don’t we head west, towards Dorian?”

Geralt hummed, nodded, and turned to start untying Roach and Potato from the nearby tree. Jaskier stood there in shock for a second before shaking his head, and going to help. 

Okay, to Dorian they went.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first time writing at all, so please be kind!
> 
> If you enjoy my writing style, and you have an idea for something else you'd enjoy, let me know!
> 
> I thought I'd post a few chapters straight up, coz I've been working on this for a couple weeks now, and things start to get truly fun around Chapter 4 onwards anyway :)


	4. Revenge Is A Dish Best Served With Cutting Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier’s laugh cut off abruptly, and Geralt watched as Jaskier tensed immediately. Geralt wasn’t sure he’d seen Jaskier quietly seething with so much anger, before he very quickly transformed his expression to one of boredom, as if he was unimpressed with everything, with only Geralt still seeing the anger dancing behind his eyes.
> 
> Before Geralt could ask Jaskier anything about what was happening, as he was sure this was Valdo Marx, a drawling voice called out to them. 
> 
> “Julian Alfred Pankratz, as I live and breathe!” Valdo gestured flamboyantly with his hands as he made it to the table they waited near. He was the most outrageous man Geralt had ever seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We finally have Valdo Marx! This one was hilarious to write, so I hope you enjoy!

Geralt and Jaskier made their way towards Dorian, making camp a few times along the way, enjoying the spring weather. Things had already been significantly more amicable between them. Jaskier knew that part of that had to be having his own horse, because he tired less easily and they could go further for longer. On the first night when they made camp, Jaskier brought up the practicality of Potato, and Geralt had agreed, saying he had been thinking Jaskier should have a horse if they travelled together again. Jaskier had raised his eyebrows at that, and smiled, saying “Were you going to get me one?”

Geralt had muttered, “I was thinking about it”, then turned away, going back to cooking their dinner over the fire. If Witchers could blush though, Jaskier would have thought Geralt did in that moment.

It was more than that though. Geralt was listening more attentively when Jaskier talked, smiling more often and openly at Jaskier’s descriptions of his antics over the four years they had spent apart. He laughed more often too; for example, when Jaskier recounted the time during Yuletide, the second year of his wintering at Oxenfurt, when during the midwinter banquet for the residing staff a flock of birds had been released for show, and one of them had shat directly onto the Chancellor’s face. Jaskier loved Geralt’s laugh. It was a booming, barking thing, and Jaskier couldn’t help but smile at the thought of it, a sound full of joy, and it had been such a rare gift during their earlier years.

Jaskier had been figuring out some important things too. One of them was when to stop talking Geralt’s ear off. He’d learnt to notice the signs when they happened, and allow Geralt the room to breathe. The Witcher hadn’t told him to shut up out of frustration once.

The other was that whenever something uncomfortable came up, Jaskier had a tendency to change the subject to spare Geralt the pain of talking about it, a habit he’d developed from earlier travels. He noticed it one day as they were discussing the memory of a gruesome fight with a botchling, a fight from which Jaskier had helped him heal afterwards. The silence had sat heavy when Geralt had told Jaskier that botchlings were created through unwanted, stillborn infants who weren’t given proper burials. Before Jaskier could change the subject, however, Geralt had started recalling his first ever contract for a botchling. Jaskier was honoured to hear the Witcher volunteering his own memories, a harrowing tale in which Geralt barely escaped with his life. He could have missed that if he’d changed the subject before Geralt had the chance to open up, something the Witcher was doing more often these days. Jaskier wasn’t about to make that mistake again, that was for sure.

***

It was early morning, and Geralt and Jaskier had just entered a small town to the east of Dorian, deciding to stay the night at an inn, with a proper bed and a bath, and get cleaned up before entering the city itself. It was a modest town, clean, and lively. Geralt and Jaskier made their way to the noticeboard in the centre of town to look for any possible contracts.

Geralt perused the noticeboard, looking for posts with the familiar words of his trade: monsters, disappearances and deaths, dangerous, all pleasant words. “Mm… there’s a contract for a grave hag. Shouldn’t be too much trouble.” Geralt folded the notice and tucked it into a pocket, turning to Jaskier, who was standing next to him holding the reins to Potato and Roach. “I’ll go see the Alderman once we set up at the inn.”

“Why not go now? Then if it’s something you can get over and done with, you can leave once we’ve got our rooms and make it back to have a relaxing bath, a hot meal and an ale or two?” Jaskier suggested.

Mm… that did sound good. Geralt was used to the hard life of the road and the less-than-satisfactory meals that went along with it, but there was pleasure in a solid bed and a hot bath. Plus, travelling with Jaskier had extra perks in the bath department: nice-smelling oils and soaps, and Jaskier usually enjoyed treating Geralt to a hair wash once he’d finished contracts.

Geralt knew it was probably purely practical on Jaskier’s part, because of the unpleasant smell of guts and blood. And Geralt didn’t see any point in refusing him that practicality, of course. Geralt’s pleasure for baths that involved Jaskier, however, came from the relaxing feeling of Jaskier’s hands massaging his head and shoulders, the gentle, unassuming care.

Not that he’d exactly admit that out loud to Jaskier. No, that was better kept under lock and key in his own mind, for now.

Geralt hummed in assent to the bard, and they asked around for directions to the Alderman’s lodgings. Geralt was directed to a building close to the centre of town, a quite nicely kept 2-storey house. Jaskier held the reins to the horses as Geralt knocked on the front door.

A portly middle-aged man answered, with balding golden hair and a beard and moustache. His eyes widened as he caught sight of Geralt, and Geralt smelled the all too familiar whiff of fear emanate from him.

However, when the man caught sight of Jaskier behind him, lute strapped to his back, his fear seemed to change completely into excitement, and not just because of the bard.

“Ahh, you must be the famed White Wolf, Geralt of Rivia! And I assume this must be your bard, Jaskier! I recently heard you play at Oxenfurt during a visit to my cousin, I greatly admire your work!”

Geralt fought hard to keep a smile from his face as Jaskier practically preened under the praise, rushing forward to meet the “sweet, dear man”, horses all but forgotten at the gate.

Jaskier leapt forward to greet the Alderman, who introduced himself as Reinhart, and said whilst shaking hands, “you are most welcome to play at the Horse and Cart tonight, our local inn! I’ll buy you an ale myself, after your performance.”

Jaskier’s grin stretched to his ears, blue eyes glinting in the early morning light. “You are too kind! I’ll happily oblige a fan, especially if you include an ale for my dear Witcher here!”

Reinhart nodded enthusiastically, looking very pleased at the arrangement, before a frown quickly crossed his features. “Oh Gods, I almost forgot, we have another bard in tonight too. A …Mark fellow, was it?”

Geralt watched, shocked, as Jaskier’s eyes seemed to darken, something like anger blazing to life in his eyes. “You wouldn’t happen to mean Valdo Marx, would you?”

“Ahh yes, that’s the fellow! Well, no matter, he can simply go first, do the early dinner set so to speak, and I’ll make sure Jozef, our innkeeper, sends you on for the later set.” Reinhart leant in conspiratorially to Jaskier and whispered, “It’s the better set, trust me, lots of folks come to the Horse and Cart after dinner at home and tend to drink till the wee hours of the night. You’ll get the better coin!” and winked at the bard, who smiled again at that, and began discussing the perks of playing for audiences at later points of the evening.

Geralt couldn’t help but see a tightness around his eyes, though, unknown perhaps to any who didn’t know him as well as Geralt, who began sifting through his mind, trying to figure out what Jaskier had mentioned of this Valdo Marx. But apart from trying to get a djinn to essentially commit murder on the man, he couldn’t remember if Jaskier had said anything in detail about why he hated Valdo so much. Geralt was curious to know more, but turned his mind back to the present, and why he had sought out the Alderman in the first place.

“I believe you have a grave hag causing problems?” Reinhart jumped as he remembered Geralt was there, but recovered and nodded to Geralt, looking more severe.

“Yes, unfortunately. Rather nasty business. There was an abandoned residence right out the back of the cemetery, where she seems to have taken up residence. No one really goes out there. It’s lucky no one’s died recently, mainly because we’ve had to ban people from visiting the cemetery. She’s killed only 3 so far, thank the Gods. Last death was one of the farmer’s young sons, who’d just started working as a gravedigger. So young.” Reinhart shook his head slowly, a haunted look in his eyes.

Geralt nodded. “I’ll get it done today. If I can lure her into the open during sunlight she’ll be weakened, it’ll be an easier fight.” Once Geralt had received more information on the grave hag, enough to plan out his strategy, they talked over the price of the contract. Reinhart proved to be equally as generous to Geralt as he had been to Jaskier, immediately giving a more than fair price for the grave hag. Once they agreed on the amount, Reinhart offered to get them set up at the inn, so that he could make sure Jaskier got the later set.

Reinhart bounced along in front of Geralt, who quietly followed and held the reins to Roach and Potato, as Jaskier and Reinhart animatedly conversed about Jaskier’s compositions. Reinhart had astonished Geralt. Yes, he had been initially fearful, but Geralt knew his tall, broad figure, white hair and golden eyes, and skin littered with scars weren’t exactly the norm. But as soon as he had spotted Jaskier, he’d recognised who Geralt was, and relaxed. Reinhart must have been a big fan, recognised Geralt from Jaskier’s songs, and had truly taken Jaskier’s words to heart about who Geralt was.

Geralt knew he was indebted to the bard in many ways, but this proved the point even more. Fair coin, a complete lack of fear, a promise of a good dinner and free ale, and being called a Master Witcher, with no disdain or disgust, but rather respect instead? It was more than Geralt was used to. Jaskier was good for him, gave his life quality and light. How had he never truly seen that before?

They reached the Horse and Cart, a large, fine looking inn 2-storey inn. Geralt took the horses straight to the stables and settled Roach and Potato in, giving the young stable boy strict instructions on how to look after Roach. He grabbed his packs as Jaskier grabbed his own off the back of Potato, Reinhart still chattering away behind him. Then they headed into the Horse and Cart.

Reinhart turned to Geralt and Jaskier as they entered. “I’ll take care of sorting your room out for you both, we have a couple of rooms with two beds that will do you well!” At Jaskier’s nod and thanks, he then turned and toddled off, calling out for Jozef the innkeeper.

Jaskier wandered to the nearest table to place their packs on top of it as they waited, then turned to Geralt, blue eyes twinkling, a cheeky grin gracing his features. “That went exceedingly well, didn’t it?”

Geralt raised an eyebrow at Jaskier’s understatement, losing the fight against a smile itching at the corner of his lips. “I’m surprised he didn’t weave you a flower crown,” Geralt replied dryly. Jaskier laughed brightly at Geralt’s comment, and Geralt felt a fluttering begin in his chest at the sound. _Gods_. His laugh rang like a clear bell throughout the main room of the inn.

At the sound of Jaskier’s laugh though, an unfamiliar figure turned his head, stood up from a table at the back of the inn, and began sauntering towards them. Jaskier’s laugh cut off abruptly, and Geralt watched as Jaskier tensed immediately. Geralt wasn’t sure he’d seen Jaskier quietly seething with so much anger, before he very quickly transformed his expression to one of boredom, as if he was unimpressed with everything, with only Geralt still seeing the anger dancing behind his eyes.

Before Geralt could ask Jaskier anything about what was happening, as he was sure this was Valdo Marx, a drawling voice called out to them.

“Julian Alfred Pankratz, as I live and breathe!” Valdo gestured flamboyantly with his hands as he made it to the table they waited near. He was the most outrageous man Geralt had ever seen. He wore a tightly cut orange and gold doublet with matching pants. The lace of his chemise poking out from over the top of the doublet had small jewels sewn into it, and to top it off, he had an orange and gold hat with a huge grey feather sticking out the top of it, leaning jauntily to one side.

Geralt had to admit the man wasn’t completely unattractive, with green eyes and dark brown curls, but Jaskier was objectively better looking. _And less ridiculous_ , Geralt thought. Jaskier’s clothing was flamboyant by Geralt’s standards, used to his blacks and greys as he was, but Jaskier’s fashion sense had fewer bells and whistles, and yet was clearly more refined, tasteful. Valdo, on the other hand, looked like a gaudy court jester.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here? Jaskier, darling, it’s been too long. And look at the giant brute brooding behind you, this must be your darling pet Witcher. How precious!” Geralt stiffened a bit at the callous way Valdo referred to him, but he was used to harsh words, and Valdo’s weren’t very cutting. Instead he raised one unimpressed eyebrow at Valdo.

Jaskier though – one of Jaskier’s hands quickly curled into a fist at his sides, and then just as quickly uncurled. Jaskier recovered quickly, however, settling into a boasting tone similar to the other bard. “Valdo, I should’ve known you were here! I caught the familiar scent of cheap perfume and hack penmanship as we rode into town this morning. Are you still recovering from your tragic loss at the Midsummer Bardic Championships at Tretogor?” Geralt remembered Jaskier talking about that championship the other day, citing the disqualification of one of the competitors for plagiarism. Geralt wondered absently if Valdo was the disqualified competitor.

  
Valdo’s left eye seemed to twitch, before he settled into sneering at Jaskier. “I think you’ll find that I can afford much more expensive perfume than you, darling. My successful marriage to a certain mutual friend of ours assures that level of finery. And what of you? The odour of horse dung is displeasing, you really should keep better company.”

Jaskier looked like he was vibrating with the effort not to punch Valdo. Geralt sighed internally, not wanting to have to break up a fight this early in the morning. Luckily Reinhart chose this moment to interrupt, having just sorted out lodgings with the innkeeper. “Ahh I see you two are catching up! Splendid. Now, Valdo, I had to rearrange things so that Jaskier here could perform tonight. I am such a fan of his work, as I’m sure you are!” Valdo’s smug sneer was wiped from his face as Reinhart spoke, turning into one of shock and… fear? Geralt could smell it on him. _Interesting_ , Geralt noted internally. “Valdo, you’ll take the early afternoon set, running into the beginnings of dinner, and then Jaskier will take over and play for the rest of the evening! Now, I will brook no arguments, this is only fair!”

Valdo was clearly indignant and outraged, but he covered it with bravado, deciding to level his next words at Jaskier instead. “It’s quite alright. I can already afford the best; I will happily give up the better spot to someone severely less fortunate than myself. We must all do our due diligence for the poor and talentless, no?” And with that, swept away from the conversation, leaving Jaskier a spluttering, angry mess.

“I’ll show you talentless, you vulgar, good-for-nothing, plagiarising pigeon!” Jaskier continued to angrily mutter as he picked up their packs from the table. Geralt took the opportunity to grab the keys to their room from Reinhart. _Hmm, so that answers the plagiarism question_.

Reinhart, to his credit, seemed to hold it together, though he looked very concerned at what he’d gotten himself into. “Old acquaintances?”

Geralt just hummed, grabbed the keys to the room and nodded in thanks. He then pushed Jaskier gently in the direction of the stairs up to the second floor as Jaskier continued to mutter under his breath.

“What happened with Valdo?” Geralt asked the bard.

Jaskier immediately quietened at that. “It’s a long and complicated history of villainy and betrayal, I doubt you’d want to hear about the tale.”

Geralt knew he could take the excuse out of the conversation and Jaskier might not care. However, he could see traces of anger and hurt in Jaskier, and knew he couldn’t let this go, for Jaskier’s sake. If Valdo had actually hurt Jaskier, he needed to know. So that he could protect him, and if it came to it, punch Valdo. He’d enjoy punching the slimy man. “Tell me,” Geralt said gently, giving Jaskier permission not to speak if he wished, as he unlocked their room and walked inside.

Jaskier and Geralt quietly put their packs down, Geralt sitting at the foot-edge of the bed closest to the door. It was a very nicely appointed room, with two single beds, a fireplace, and a small table and chairs in the middle of the room. There was an adjoining room with an empty bathtub inside. Geralt was impressed.

Jaskier sighed and sat at the end of his own bed. “Before I tell you, I want to remind you that this started over 20 years ago, and I’m a completely different man now. I don’t regret anything. I’m happy with my life as it is, with our adventures together.”

Geralt nodded. Jaskier took a deep breath. “Valdo and I were studying at Oxenfurt together. When I met him in the first year of our studies, we hit it off right away. Eventually we began seeing each other. But he kept using me to get further ahead on his studies, plagiarising my writings, getting me into trouble with the professors. Then one day, I walked in on him cheating on me with another man. I broke it off. As soon as we broke it off, however, the professors began to realise that I’d been correct about Valdo plagiarising my work, when his work dipped significantly in quality. He was nearly expelled. I, on the other hand, was very pleased with that!” Jaskier was smiling vindictively. “We avoided each other at all times, apart from when we had to compete against one another, and thus began a feud that has lasted over two decades.”

Jaskier paused for a second. “However, it got worse about ten years ago. You might remember that I had romantic relations around that time with the Countess de Stael?” Geralt nodded, remembering Jaskier often lamenting the on-again, off-again relationship with the Countess. “Well, the last time we were together, she had asked me to play for a banquet of hers, a prestigious event. I spent the whole night playing for all the nearby noblemen and women. She kept disappearing from my view during the night, but I thought nothing of it. She was a hostess, doing her job. I kept the crowd entertained, and that distracted me fully. When the evening wound up, I went to find her.” Jaskier paused again, and Geralt scented the faint hints of hurt coming off him. Geralt had an uneasy feeling that he knew where this was going. “Not only was she cheating on me with Valdo, he had just proposed to her. She had accepted. She told me that we were never a permanent solution, merely a temporary fancy.”

Jaskier sighed, and stood up. “And now, I continue to beat Valdo in every championship that we both compete in, and Valdo continues to laud over me his marriage to the Countess, which he entered into purely for financial convenience.”

Geralt hummed. “No wonder you wanted to wish him dead with the djinn.”

“You remember that?” Jaskier looked at Geralt, surprised. “Yes, well, at the time it seemed like the best solution. I didn’t want the Countess back, not after that insult, but a dead Valdo seemed better. Now though, I am content with destroying him in every bardic competition I enter into.”

Geralt hummed. He felt uneasy, however. If Jaskier had loved Valdo all those years ago, and still enjoyed besting him… “Do you still care about Valdo?”

Jaskier seemed further surprised by Geralt’s question. “Gods, no!” Jaskier paused, frowning a bit, looking at Geralt. Then he smiled softly. Geralt’s heart rate sped up, and the fluttering in his chest came back with a vengeance. “Geralt, I am truly happy here. I should probably thank him instead. If he had never done those things, we might never have met.” The sincerity in Jaskier’s bright, blue eyes made Geralt glad he was sitting, for he felt weak at the knees. His cheeks felt warm. Geralt could only hum gently in response, but Jaskier seemed to understand perfectly, smile brightening.

Then Jaskier seemed to snap to attention. “Gods, we nearly forgot! You have a grave hag to kill!” Geralt hummed, standing up to grab his things.

“It shouldn’t be too difficult. I’ll be back by nightfall.” Geralt strapped the few things he needed to him, glad that Jaskier wasn’t trying to come with him. He needed to concentrate, and their conversation was making that difficult. He walked to the door and opened it, stepping outside.

“Geralt?” Jaskier paused as Geralt turned around to face him. He smiled gently. “Be safe.”

Geralt hummed gently, attempting and losing the fight against smiling in response, and turned around, trying to remember how to breathe properly.

_Maybe I should thank Valdo too_ , he thought to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming soon, Chapter 5: Valdo The Liar, and Roach, The Best Girl There Ever Was


	5. Valdo The Liar, and Roach, The Best Girl There Ever Was

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valdo sauntered closer to him, smug leering in full swing now that Geralt wasn’t around. “Now, dearest Julian, don’t be too upset with your Witcher when he chooses me as his bard and companion after hearing my magnificent voice last night. I know you’ll just be heartbroken, but I’m sure he cares about talent, darling!”
> 
> Jaskier’s insides almost bounded with glee. Valdo really was making this too easy for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't wait any longer, I just had to post the next chapter :)
> 
> ***
> 
> HELLO! WELCOME!  
> This is my first foray into writing literally anything, let alone a multi-chapter slow burn fanfic!  
> So of course, naturally, I wanted to do a fix-it/getting together thing.
> 
> This is my first time writing at all, so please be kind, and please, if you enjoy my writing style, and you have an idea for something else you'd enjoy, let me know!
> 
> Inspired by this Tumblr post:  
> https://mystic-majestic.tumblr.com/post/619085276921331712/theres-something-nice-about-reading-mutual
> 
> And also inspired by wanting to use specific show moments to help aid the story!
> 
> ENJOY! :)
> 
> PS. If there are any Content Warnings, they'll be in the end notes (there are none for this chapter)

Jaskier milled around their room and the town for the rest of the day, enjoying the adventure and the kind-hearted people. It was truly rare for Geralt to see such kind treatment, despite Jaskier’s efforts, and knowing that Reinhart had been so kind and fair to Geralt made Jaskier happy, knowing he’d made a difference in the changing opinions of this town.

He went to the market to see the local wares, and apparently Reinhart had two daughters who were also fans of his work, for as soon as he got to their stall where they sold baked goods, they offered him a free sample and asked him if he’d been working on anything new. Jaskier spent a happy hour talking to the two young girls about music and the latest trends in composition across the Continent. It was rare that people asked him about the profession itself in such terms, and Jaskier took it for the treat that it was.

When he went back to the Horse and Cart, he had a hearty late lunch, and then went upstairs to warm up and practice a little, being careful to keep quiet so that Valdo wouldn’t hear too much, if possible. He didn’t trust the slimy snake of a man, and wouldn’t risk giving away his material for the night.

Jaskier did not exactly enjoy that he constantly ran into Valdo, reminding him of all the slights he had suffered at his hands, but the one thing that did make it easier was knowing that Valdo was a terrible human who always seemed to get his comeuppance, no matter what. The fact that Reinhart had offered him the later set with the more generous (drunk) patrons meant that Jaskier could make it through the rest of the night, hopefully without incident. And having a Witcher as a best friend and occasional protector made it all the more tolerable.

Jaskier hoped that Geralt trusted Jaskier when he said he was over Valdo. He liked having his revenge, absolutely, but he didn’t want Geralt being misled. Geralt might not know about Jaskier’s feelings for him, let alone return them, but Jaskier didn’t want anything ruining how Geralt perceived him. Jaskier thought Valdo was a disgusting, childish, over the top, dramatic, plagiarising bastard, and had no interest in ever seeing the man again, let alone ever resuming their relations.

Once Jaskier had well and truly exhausted his options of ways to keep occupied, it was getting close to sunset, and he was sure Geralt would be back soon, so he slipped downstairs to order a warm bath for Geralt.

When he got downstairs he internally cursed himself for forgetting: Valdo had already started his set, and was weaving his way among the tables along the far side of the room. He pointedly ignored it, heading to the bar to ask Jozef about the bath.

Whilst he waited, he glanced around at the patrons. The room was only about a third full, and everyone who was there was too busy tucking into food to care about Valdo too much, which made Jaskier feel quite smug.

Once Jozef served him, he then went upstairs to set up the oils and soaps he usually used for Geralt: chamomile soap, lavender oil for his hair, gentle scents that wouldn’t offend Geralt’s overpowered nose.

Jaskier had just sourced their medical supplies among their packs in case Geralt came back with any injuries when the Witcher himself came in the door and closed it behind him. He wasn’t too badly covered in blood, which Jaskier was very pleased with, as it meant he didn’t have to clean it.

“Ah, Geralt! Alive I see, that’s an excellent start,” Jaskier said as he perused Geralt’s form for signs of injury. Geralt turned to set his swords down when he saw the slashes on his left shoulder. “Those claw marks need stitches?”

“No, just cleaning. They’re not deep. Got too close trying to cut off her long tongue.”

Jaskier shuddered at that mental image. “Urgh, grave hags. Disgusting.” Geralt started unbuckling his armour and Jaskier rushed forward to help. “Reinhart pay you properly?”

Geralt hummed and nodded. Jaskier noticed the perplexed look was back in the Witcher’s golden eyes, and it saddened him; Geralt getting paid properly shouldn’t be a rarity. He knew it wouldn’t help to talk about it right now though, with Geralt tired from the fight and sporting injuries.

They made short work of Geralt’s armour, Jaskier quietly chattering away about his day all the while, then Jaskier turned around for privacy whilst Geralt took off his underclothes and slipped into the bath with a groan that had Jaskier blushing lightly. He distracted himself by picking up a bucket, scooping up some water and wetting Geralt’s hair.

They settled into their familiar routine with ease, despite Jaskier realising that this was the first time he’d helped bathe the Witcher in four years. Jaskier sprinkled the lavender oil on his hands and began massaging Geralt’s head, slowly working through any tangles. Jaskier was pleased to see Geralt relax more and more into the bath, closing his eyes with a hum.

Jaskier hummed lightly as he worked. He enjoyed being able to give Geralt this: friendly, affectionate touches, with no strings attached, no need for reciprocation. He couldn’t deny the attraction he felt towards the Witcher in such a position, with all of Geralt’s form on display, but he often chose to actively ignore it. Geralt had never had anyone help him purely because they wanted to help, and Jaskier cherished being able to give him that. Even if Geralt never returned his feelings, he would never hesitate to be there for him. Ever.

***

Geralt sat with his tankard in hand, dinner plates cleared, Jaskier seated across from him as they listened to Valdo finish up his performance to a much fuller inn than Geralt had seen when he had returned from the grave hag during the afternoon.

Geralt was no expert when it came to music, but Valdo, whilst being decent, was a far cry from being as good as Jaskier. He knew he was possibly biased, but the evidence of Jaskier’s numerous competition wins and his placement at Oxenfurt spoke for themselves. He’d been spoiled for all other bards.

Whilst Valdo was decent, Jaskier’s music had a soul to them that Valdo lacked. Jaskier’s words were earnest, they had heart and authenticity, and in Jaskier’s blue eyes there was fervour and a passion there.

Geralt watched Jaskier out of the corner of his eye as he listened to Valdo’s final songs. He wished he could say something to reassure Jaskier. He had barely been able to get the apology out properly in some form that made sense, but he was trying desperately to wrangle his thoughts into coherent words and sentences. Words meant a lot to the bard. It was how he made his living. Geralt had tried to use actions too, and he knew Jaskier would understand, but this felt different. He didn’t think Jaskier’s singing was fillingless pie, he’d only said it because he was sleep deprived. He was concerned that after the years of banter and insults, Jaskier might actually believe he didn’t care for his singing.

Geralt hummed, getting Jaskier’s attention, who turned to look at him. “You’re better,” he grunted. Geralt berated himself internally, trying to word it better. He felt flushed, and the fluttering in his chest was back as Jaskier stared at him with wide blue eyes. “He’s boring. Got no truth in his words. You… use your heart.”

Jaskier stared at him, shocked, before he smiled. “Geralt! Your words fill me with confidence! I agree wholeheartedly, of course.” Just as he said this, Valdo finished and began thanking the audience. Jaskier got up energetically, grabbing his lute, but before leaving he affectionately touched Geralt’s shoulder. “Thank you, my dearest Witcher.” With that, he strode off to chat to Reinhart, who waited near the bar. Geralt’s shoulder felt warm where Jaskier had touched him, and he couldn’t help but focus on it, a warm feeling bubbling in him at Jaskier calling him “dearest”.

He distracted himself by draining the last of his tankard and going over to the bar to get another. As he did this, a few more patrons filed in, and Jaskier stepped up to the space Valdo had occupied not thirty seconds earlier.

“Good evening, my fine ladies and gentlemen! My name is Jaskier the bard, and I will be entertaining you for the rest of this lovely evening!” Some patrons of the inn gave a resounding cheer, giving an indication of Jaskier’s renown. “Now sit back and enjoy yourselves as I regale you with the finest tales the Continent has to offer!” And with that, he launched into his first tune.

Geralt headed back to his corner table and listened in. A small smile twitched at his lips as the bard danced and spun around the space with as much joy and heart as he could muster. This was much better. Valdo couldn’t hold a candle to Jaskier.

***

It was getting closer to midnight, and the crowd had reached its rowdiest point. Jaskier was playing jigs and songs for dancing, and a few of the tables had been pushed back to make room for dancing. This was his favourite point of the night, dancing and weaving through the crowd, people glistening with sweat and smiling with all the joy in the world, energy thrumming in the gathered group as they relaxed and joined hands. Jaskier passionately loved what he did. He thought that dancing and singing were the two things that allowed people to truly let go, release the shackles of expectations and have fun. There was nothing like it.

When he finished his current song, he decided to pause for a drink. “I would ask you to let me pause, my dear audience, and refresh myself with a beverage! I will be back momentarily, perhaps with a ballad or two for the lovers in the room!” And with a cheeky wink, and laughter from the crowd, sauntered over to where his Witcher sat.

He stole Geralt’s current drink and took a few hearty swigs, Geralt glaring half-heartedly up at him. He placed it back on the table once he’d emptied it.

“Thank you, my dearest friend, you do me great honour in sharing your beverage with me!” Feeling risky, thrumming with adrenaline, he winked and patted the Witcher on the shoulder.

Geralt raised an eyebrow, and before Jaskier left he heard Geralt mutter, “Didn’t have much of a choice, bard.”

Jaskier laughed and went back to his position on the floor, and the audience settled at his approach. The dance floor remained, but people had circled the area by sitting on available chairs and tables, even the floor, giving Jaskier his own performance space to work with.

“Now, how about I treat you to a ballad or two! Any requests?” He asked, stepping into the middle of the semi-circle.

A young girl spoke up from the corner. “The one about the mermaid who fell in love with a human! Please, it’s my favourite!”

“Ah, a classic of mine, _The Salt Tears and the Sea_ , of course, my dear!” He launched into a ballad he had composed during his first year apart from Geralt, about a mermaid who had fallen in love with a human and sacrificed their life to save him, and the human crying over the body of the mermaid in grief. It was a particularly morose ballad, with a bittersweet ending.

He’d just launched into the last stanza when he noticed Valdo get up from his brooding position at the end of the bar and wander over to Geralt. _What was the slimy git up to this time_ , he thought to himself, but he kept his focus on performing, knowing Geralt could obviously handle it. Besides, Valdo seemed to inspire the urge in people to punch him in the face, and Jaskier would love to see that. He wasn’t about to waste _another_ lute smashing it over Valdo’s head. Filavandrel’s lute was too precious for that.

When he finished, a few girls were crying, and a few of the men too, though they tried to hide it with stern expressions and bravado. “Why don’t I sing one with a happier ending this time?” They answered with a few giggles and cheers. He knew the perfect one.

“This next song is about how appearances can be deceiving. It’s rather a cute ballad of mine, and has risen in popularity over the years, so sing along if you know it! This is _The Hound and the Hare_.”

A man from the back piped up. “I love this one!” A few of his friends laughed and teased him. “What, it’s cute!”

Jaskier smiled and began to play. It was quite a sweet, silly tale about two unlikely friends, who despite what the world said about them, worked well together, the hare even saving the hound’s life once. He’d written it over a decade ago, and designed it so that audiences could easily sing along to the repeat motifs.

He glanced over to Geralt and Valdo, and noticed happily that Valdo seemed highly uncomfortable with their conversation, almost afraid, and Geralt looked particularly smug, though those who didn’t know Geralt well might not notice. _Can’t wait to hear that tale_ , he thought gleefully.

Once he finished, he announced that he would be finishing up. “But I cannot leave until we’ve had one last ballad! What would you like, any last requests?”

An older woman from the back raised her hand. The audience seemed to quieten in respect when Jaskier nodded at her. “Please, my Jurek’s favourite was _Warts and All_. He passed two winters ago. I’d love to hear it again, for him.”

Jaskier felt touched. “Of course, my lady,” he said quietly. Jaskier loved this tune. It was about a woman growing self-conscious when she starts developing warts here and there, and accidentally farting in front of her husband, and feeling nervous when she starts to get grey hairs and wrinkles. When her husband ask her why she’s nervous and she confesses, he says he loves her, warts and all, that love is about loving the faults as much as the good things, and how he will always love her, no matter what.

When he finished, there were barely any dry eyes in his gathering that circled him. “Well this just won’t do! I’ll have to sing a song to cheer you up before I leave you!” And launched into _Toss A Coin_ for his finale, to thunderous cheers. He glanced at Geralt just in time for Geralt to roll his eyes, which made him smile more. _Some things never change_.

“Thank you, thank you! You might just be my favourite audience ever! Now don’t forget to be generous, both to me and your loves tonight!” He said with a wink, and was immediately drowned in thanks and coin. He packed his lute and the coin away, and happily walked over to where Geralt was glaring at Valdo.

Geralt got up to stand next to Jaskier. “Valdo, still slithering around I see. Don’t you have a hole to crawl back into?”

“Jaskier, no matter, I’ll get out of your hair.” He said as he stood. “You must be exhausted. It must be hard work trying to be good!”  
  
“Yeah, you would know, wouldn’t you Valdo? Must be knackered from all that squawking you call singing!” Valdo immediately looked outraged, and made to storm towards Jaskier.

“Why you-” Before Valdo could finish however, Geralt moved one step forward. Valdo squeaked and stumbled back a couple of steps. Jaskier watched with glee.

Geralt took another step forward. He hardly needed to try to be intimidating, but in rare moments he played it up, and Jaskier was practically giddy with glee seeing him use it on Valdo. “Don’t forget what I said Valdo.” He growled. “Maybe I should tell Jaskier what you told me, hmm?” Ooo, his conversation with Geralt tonight was going to be interesting. Geralt would surely tell him anyway, wouldn’t he?

“No no, splendid point, good night Jaskier, I’ll be off.” With that, Valdo ducked past them and up the stairs, almost running in his haste.

Jaskier turned towards Geralt with a raised eyebrow, who merely chuckled and began walking upstairs.

“Oh no no no, you have to tell, this is too good!” He said as he hastened to follow Geralt, lute slung over his shoulder and a purse filled to the brim with gold.

Geralt looked at him over his shoulder, grinning as he went upstairs, and said, “I don’t _have_ to tell you anything, you know.”

“Well yes, but you will, won’t you Geralt? Oh pleaaassseee, Geralt?” Geralt hummed in assent, to which Jaskier wooped and hastened up the stairs after him.

Once in their room with his lute placed next to his bed, Jaskier turned to Geralt, who had just closed the door. “Tell me absolutely everything, you must tell me every juicy detail, don’t be stingy! Forget your natural proclivity to be a man of few words and give me a blow-by-blow!” He said, practically bouncing on his heels.

Geralt raised an eyebrow, still a hint of a smile on his lips. “Sorry Geralt, but please, I’ve never seen him so ready to shit his pants and bolt for the nearest door, even after he got caught plagiarising my work last year at the championships!”

Geralt chuckled, looking extremely pleased with himself, the smug look he’d hidden downstairs out in the open now that they weren’t in public. He hummed in agreement.

“So he came over to you?” Jaskier sat on his bed, the one furthest from the door.

Geralt hummed, walking over to his bed and taking off his boots as he sat. “He called you a fool. Said he was a better bard and companion.”

“Well that’s an outright lie and frankly just plain rude.” Geralt merely raised an eyebrow, waiting. “Right, shutting up, go ahead!”

“He said he had services that you couldn’t offer me, and tried to convince me to take him on instead. Said it must get lonely on the road. Offered his… talents.”

Jaskier paused a second, not understanding. _Oh_.

“Oh! His… talents, hey?” Jaskier snorted. “He must be _desperate_ for material if he’s essentially offering himself as an unpaid whore.”

Geralt hummed, amused. “Basically offered himself up on a platter. So I said, ‘I thought you were married, Valdo.’ He said he left her, that she was holding him back from greatness. That he prefers honest toil.”

Jaskier snorted. “Bullshit. Never worked a day in his life.”

Geralt chuckled. “I said as much. Said ‘you got disqualified from your last competition for plagiarism, I doubt there’s an honest bone in your body,’ which unnerved him a bit.” Geralt huffed in amusement. “The Countess left _him_. He was lying. I could hear his heart beat.”

Jaskier gaped in shock. This was more intriguing than he could’ve imagined. “So the Countess dumped him! Why?”

Geralt snorted. “Wait for it, it gets better. He started speaking about his numerous talents in the bedroom. I cut him off. Told him I could hear his heart beat, that he was clearly lying. Started asking questions, about the true nature of his talents. _May_ have used a slight Axii to persuade him to tell me the truth.” Geralt snorted. “She left him because he couldn’t… _rise to the occasion_. A mage cursed him.”

Jaskier couldn’t contain it anymore; he burst out laughing. Geralt joined in, chuckling. “Ooo boy,” Jaskier said, wiping away tears, “that is the best thing I have _ever_ heard.”

Geralt continued, a small smile curling his lips. “It was easy to intimidate him after that. I told him that I wasn’t looking for a replacement bard. And that if he ever hurts you, I’ll hurt him. He shut up after that.”

Jaskier blushed at the easy admission. He wasn’t looking for a replacement; he wanted Jaskier to stay around. And for Geralt to intimidate Valdo like that, threaten to hurt Valdo if he ever hurt him… Jaskier’s heart began to race. “Geralt…” He began, smiling, then struggled with the words. He was struggling with words more and more lately.

Geralt’s smile began to slip, and he frowned a bit, looking unsure. “Should I not have said that?”

“No no, I appreciate that you said that! I love that you said that!” _Love. Avoid that word_. Jaskier’s mouth felt dry.

“But your heart beat sped up. Are you okay?” He said, still frowning, looking concerned. _Oh shit. Damn Witcher hearing._

“Yes, I just...” Jaskier looked down at his hands, and tried to figure out how to say it without giving away his love for the Witcher.

“Geralt, I know you do actually care about me. I always knew you didn’t mind be being around, even without you being able to use the words for the past two decades. But it’s truly lovely to hear you say those things, even when you don’t have to, when I’m not around to hear them. I’m truly grateful.”

Jaskier fell silent, and glanced at Geralt. Geralt was… blushing? Witchers _could_ blush, it turned out. “Me too. Thank you for traveling with me again, Jask.” Jaskier blushed at the nickname, smiling. He loved it when Geralt said that name, he rarely used it.

They sat in silence for a time. It was a different silence than they normally shared. It felt charged, the two of them at the ends of their beds, both staring at the wall in front of them, both blushing, both unsure of what to say. Jaskier could feel hope blossoming in his chest. Jaskier desperately tried to squash the thought down. _Don’t confuse kindness with attraction! He’s just a good man, the best man, a wondrous man… oh shut up you fool._

He cleared his throat. “Well, we should probably get to bed.”

Geralt grunted, and got up, and began taking off the bulky clothes he never wore to bed. Jaskier shook his head to clear it, did the same and got under the covers.

“Goodnight, my dear Witcher.”

“Night, Jask.” Jaskier smiled secretly to himself as he rolled over, away from Geralt.

***

Jaskier stood at the counter the next morning, waiting for Jozef to come back from the kitchen so he could pay for their room and food, when he heard the clearing of a throat, followed by Valdo almost singing, “Ohh, Julian?” He rolled his eyes and turned to Valdo, who was wearing an outfit almost more hideous than the orange and gold ensemble he had on yesterday; purple and green seemed to be the colours of the day, and it almost made Jaskier want to vomit.

Jaskier slipped into the bored and unimpressed expression he saved especially for Valdo. “What?”

Valdo sauntered closer to him, smug leering in full swing now that Geralt wasn’t around. “Now, dearest Julian, don’t be too upset with your Witcher when he chooses me as his bard and companion after hearing my magnificent voice last night. I know you’ll just be heartbroken, but I’m sure he cares about talent, darling!”

Jaskier’s insides almost bounded with glee. Valdo really was making this too easy for him. “Oh Valdo, dear, I’m not worried about that at all! If he ever did choose you instead, I think he’d be sorely disappointed when your talents just don’t… _rise to the occasion_.”

Valdo looked confused, then turned beet-red with anger and fear when he realised Jaskier’s implications. Jaskier decided to amp up the drama, ever the showman, and placed his right hand resting on the dagger on his hip, grabbing Valdo’s collar with the left. Valdo paled. “Now listen here, you slimy, half-witted troll. Geralt is _mine_ , and if you so much as look at him funny, I will cut off your leg, slice you up into little pieces and feed you to a wyvern, who will hunt you down for more. Understand?”

Valdo gulped, then nodded. Jaskier sneered. “Good. Now, rest assured I won’t spread the information about your little… condition. However, if you ever decide to plagiarise my material again, I might just let it slip, hmm?”

Valdo looked so angry as he pulled away from Jaskier, that he could swear there was steam exiting his ears. “Ooo, Julian Alfred Pankratz, you will rue the day you were born! I don’t know what dirt there is on you but I will find it, and you will be the laughing stock of every competition you enter!”

Jaskier pretended to ponder this, tapping a finger against his chin. “Ooo, I don’t know if that’s the best idea, Valdo. You don’t have the Countess anymore to protect you, after all, and will you be able to find a woman if they all know you can’t get it up?”

Valdo flustered for a moment, trying to come up with a reply, then screeched with frustration, turned and bolted back up the stairs. Jaskier laughed.

***

Geralt stood outside the Horse and Cart, holding the reins to Roach and Potato the next morning, while Jaskier settled the payment for their room inside. He’d had a somewhat restless sleep the night before, after hearing Jaskier’s words last night. But seeing Jaskier that morning when he still slept, cuddling his blankets, a small smile on his face, had more than made up for it.

He couldn’t help but wonder if Jaskier would look like that if they ever cuddled, and that blushing thought had sent him into the day trying not to think about Jaskier again, which had proven impossible, especially when the bard had rolled onto his back at the sounds of Geralt beginning to move around, opened his bright blue eyes, saw him and smiled softly. Geralt had blushed again, mumbled a quiet “good morning”, then tried to distract himself by packing.

He was doing an awful lot of blushing lately.

Jaskier bounced out of the Horse and Cart, with an extreme amount of glee even for Jaskier’s standards, and grabbed Potato’s reins from Geralt. “Ah, the smell of adventure! Into Dorian we go, hey Geralt?”

Geralt hummed, raising an eyebrow, but Jaskier merely grinned and said, “I’ll tell you later.”

Valdo chose that moment to come sauntering out the front door of the inn, muttering with frustration. As Valdo got too close to Roach’s side, not noticing her, she snorted and started pawing at the ground. Looking up from his mutterings, he suddenly saw Roach pawing at the ground, exclaimed in fear, stumbled backwards, tripped, and fell bottom first into a mud pile, spraying it all over himself.

Geralt and Jaskier immediately started laughing. Geralt caught Jaskier’s eye and it just made it even more hilarious, the two of them laughing even harder. Eventually, Jaskier walked over to Roach, still cackling, pulling a sugar cube out of his pocket for her. “Good girl, Roach!” He wheezed.

Geralt chuckled and pet her side. “The best girl there ever was.” He said, as he started to calm down. He took one look at Valdo, still sitting stunned, mud dripping down his face, snorted and started laughing again, Jaskier joining in as they began walking away.

It was going to be a good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first time writing at all, so please be kind!
> 
> If you enjoy my writing, please leave a kudos or a comment, it would make my day! <3
> 
> Coming Soon, Chapter 6: Nilfgaard and Goodbyes


	6. Nilfgaard and Goodbyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yennefer, to what do we owe the pleasure of your company?” Jaskier slid into the seat further away, offering Yennefer the seat he’d been sitting in.
> 
> Yennefer took the seat, and leaned in to the table to talk to them quietly. “Nilfgaard’s taken Marnadal. They’re headed for Cintra.”
> 
> “Fuck.” Geralt swore. Jaskier felt the prickle of goosebumps on his arms.
> 
> ***
> 
> With the threat of Nilfgaard approaching, Geralt and Jaskier have to separate for a while. Goodbyes prove to be hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a teeny bit angstier than the others have been, but you gotta have a little angst to get more fluff! Absence makes the heart grow fonder, and we like that in this department. Besides, you get some juicy goodbye stuff to tide you over!
> 
> I promise I'll give you the next chapter soon! It's a doozy, filled with softness and fluff!
> 
> ***
> 
> This is my first foray into writing literally anything, let alone a multi-chapter slow burn fanfic!  
> So of course, naturally, I wanted to do a fix-it/getting together thing.
> 
> This is my first time writing at all, so please be kind, and please, if you enjoy my writing style, and you have an idea for something else you'd enjoy, let me know!
> 
> Inspired by this Tumblr post:  
> https://mystic-majestic.tumblr.com/post/619085276921331712/theres-something-nice-about-reading-mutual
> 
> And also inspired by wanting to use specific show moments to help aid the story!
> 
> ENJOY! :)
> 
> P.S: Content Warnings in the end notes!

After Dorian, Geralt and Jaskier had made their way through the Jay Forest, and slowly travelled south, stopping in at several towns along the way, Geralt taking every contract he could find, Jaskier playing at the best inns, and the occasional banquet. They had picked their way down past Brugge, given the capital of Cintra a wide berth, and headed east.

Things between them had been better than ever. Geralt still had many elements of his gruff, quiet nature. Jaskier didn’t expect him to change fully, nor did he want him to. But they talked and laughed more frequently. Things were easier between them. He had openly asked for help once or twice, with cleaning wounds, or braiding his hair out of his face as the summer progressed.

He’d even opened up about personal memories a couple more times since the botchling story. Jaskier sometimes felt he had learnt more about Geralt in these last months than he possibly ever did over the last two and a half decades. They were small steps to others, perhaps, but to Geralt and Jaskier, they were huge, and Jaskier felt humbled that Geralt trusted him that much.

Jaskier in turn kept making sure he wasn’t frustrating Geralt, or causing unnecessary problems. They hadn’t had any major frustrations or arguments since they’d started travelling again, just the usual smaller, pettier bickering, which was mostly silly and in good fun. Nothing was perfect, but things were good. Jaskier was really enjoying his time spent with Geralt.

It was making it terribly hard for Jaskier not to fall completely in love with Geralt again.

Not that he’d necessarily stopped, but there had come a point where he’d had to push the feelings aside, accept that Geralt would never feel the same, and leave it in a small pocket of his mind, untouched. But Geralt kept surprising him.

It was proving harder and harder not to see things with an affectionate eye. Geralt kept paying for small things, like surprising Jaskier with a new pair of boots when his old ones wore down, or buying him the exact lute strings he needed when a string broke after one performance. He kept laughing at Jaskier’s jokes. Every time Jaskier brushed the Witcher by accident, or touched him affectionately, he could swear Geralt was blushing.

He smiled when Jaskier played quietly by the campfire at night. Or when Jaskier was singing at inns, performing for the crowd. Jaskier had to stop himself from glancing over too much, or he would risk messing up his performances with the beats his heart skipped when he saw the small smile gracing Geralt’s features.

He couldn’t stop himself from enjoying it, however. And he wanted to figure out what made the Witcher give him those small smiles, so that he could see them again and again.

Nowadays too, Jaskier couldn’t bring himself to follow through on the possible trysts he usually had when he performed. Flirting was a part of the bard’s persona he had created; it warmed members of his audience significantly, and earned him more coin from patrons. But he had stopped wanting to follow through afterwards, to fall into the bed of whoever wanted to grace him with their presence. Instead, he enjoyed finishing his performances with a flourish, collecting his coin, and heading straight to where Geralt usually brooded in the back for a quiet drink or two before they headed to bed. Geralt was even more open on these nights, leaning back in his chair, sipping his ale, conversing contentedly with the bard. He hadn’t slept with anyone since he and Geralt had started travelling together again. He found he didn’t want to at all. Things were too good with Geralt to bother with others.

Trust things to go south the moment they were good.

This particular night, at an inn in Rivia, Jaskier had just finished a performance. He had picked up his coin, received thanks from some specific patrons, fended off unwanted advances, picked his way to the bar where the innkeeper gave him two free ales, and winded his way through the tables to where Geralt was seated. Geralt grabbed the ale Jaskier set in front of him.

Jaskier sat down with his back to the door of the inn, and placed his lute close to the wall, away from the other patrons. He was excited, the rush of adrenaline from a good performance sitting comfortably in him. “The perks of a job well done, my dear Witcher,” he exclaimed, and he took a swig. For free ale, it was certainly good quality.

Geralt took a swig too, and placed his tankard down on the table, an amused twinkle in his eye. Jaskier couldn’t help the way his heart sped up, but before he had the chance to start talking, Geralt looked past him to the door, and the smile was wiped from his face, confusion in its place. Jaskier turned around to look at what had caught Geralt’s attention, and Jaskier’s eyebrows raised up in surprise.

“Yen,” Geralt greeted, as she walked up to their table. She looked as impeccable as usual, yet something seemed off. Her expression was tight, pinched with concern.

“Yennefer, to what do we owe the pleasure of your company?” Jaskier slid into the seat further away, offering Yennefer the seat he’d been sitting in.

Yennefer took the seat, and leaned in to the table to talk to them quietly. “Nilfgaard’s taken Marnadal. They’re headed for Cintra.”

“Fuck.” Geralt swore. Jaskier felt the prickle of goosebumps on his arms.

Yen sighed, frustrated. Despite her usual impeccable garb, she looked frazzled. It made sense to Jaskier now. “I’ve just been at Aretuza. The council are refusing to intervene and stand with Cintra.”

Jaskier paled. “Without the mages, Cintra is doomed. They can’t hold against Nilfgaard.”

“Exactly,” Yennefer agreed. “Which is why I’ve agreed to go with a small offshoot of the others to Sodden. Someone needs to face Fringilla.”

Geralt was frowning. “I need to get to Ciri.” He then looked at Jaskier, as if just realising Jaskier was there too, and he paled. “Fuck. Jaskier, I can’t take-”

“It’s okay, Geralt, I won’t come.” He said with a sad smile. Jaskier could be reckless sometimes, but an invading army was not something he was prepared to face. “You need to focus on Ciri, I’d just be in the way. I don’t fancy getting taken by Nilfgaard, honestly. I’ll saddle up Potato and head north first thing tomorrow. No use staying in the area.”

Geralt nodded. “I’ll meet you once I have Ciri. Then we’ll continue to Kaer Morhen.”

Yen interrupted. “There’s no time. I’ll portal him north to your meeting point, it’s quicker and safer.”

Jaskier was shocked. “Yennefer, I don’t know if that’s necessary, I mean-”

“Yes it is.” Geralt cut him off. “I need to know you’re safe.” He said quietly. Jaskier’s heart rate jumped up at that quick admission, and the concern in Geralt’s eyes. Jaskier could only nod in response, his mouth dry. He glanced to Yennefer, who was smirking at Geralt.

Jaskier ignored Yennefer's smirk; he didn't have the time to analyse that. He took a moment to consider things. He knew he wouldn’t be safe near Cintra. He didn’t want to leave Geralt. He couldn’t be there for him, couldn’t help in any way. But logically, he knew he couldn’t do much in this situation. He would just be in danger. If Nilfgaard got hold of him, they could torture him for information on Geralt and Ciri, not that he would give them anything willingly. Geralt would be much safer without Jaskier to worry about too.

He nodded, his mood significantly subdued. “Okay. In that case, portal me to Ellander. I have a cousin there I can stay with, and it’s north of Cintra, out of the way. Easy for Geralt to get there with Ciri. Then we can head north together.”

“Sounds like a plan, bard.” Yennefer agreed. “Geralt? I can portal you somewhere too.”

Geralt hummed. “The Amell Mountains. Let me get a look at Nilfgaard’s forces.”

Yennefer frowned. “Are you sure that’s smart?”

“If I know how bad things are first-hand it might help me convince Calanthe to let me take Ciri. She won’t give her up without a fight.”

Yennefer nodded. “It’s settled then.”

“I’ll go pack our things.” Jaskier said quietly.

Geralt nodded. “I’ll be up in a bit.” Jaskier could only nod at Geralt. He grabbed his lute from where it leaned against the wall, and wove through the tables to head upstairs.

Jaskier’s thoughts started to spiral into worry. What if Geralt didn’t get to Ciri in time? What if Ciri got hurt, or taken, or killed? The girl was precious to Jaskier. He’d played for her at banquets, watched her grow up, given her gifts, up until Calanthe banned him. He needed her to be okay.

And what if Geralt got hurt protecting Ciri? What if he didn’t survive? Geralt was all he had. Geralt meant everything to Jaskier. War was dangerous for all. And Calanthe wasn’t exactly fond of him either. What if he made it to Cintra and was killed on sight?

Trying to focus his thoughts away from war and death without any success, he opened the door to their small room and began grabbing up his belongings, sorting them from the bags Geralt and him shared on the road. Once he’d collected his things, he knelt to begin packing them into a couple of bags that would be easy to attach to Potato’s saddle, and packed Geralt’s belongings into his packs, knowing Geralt would want to leave straight away. Jaskier heard the door open again as he finished packing everything up and looked around.

Geralt stepped into the room and closed it behind him. The worry still hadn’t left his eyes, and Jaskier could read the tension in him. “I settled things with the innkeeper for the room. Have you got everything?” He asked quietly.

Jaskier stood and nodded. “I shifted everything around, packed your things too.” Geralt nodded back.

They both fell silent then, staring at each other.

How could he say goodbye? He looked at Geralt, and his heart rate hitched up a notch. He studied Geralt’s white locks, his golden eyes, trying to absorb everything. Knowing it could be the last time he saw the man if things didn’t go to plan.

Geralt stared back at him, a small frown etched into his forehead. Then without warning, he strode towards Jaskier and pulled him into his arms, hugging him tight.

Jaskier felt a ripple of shock, but he quickly responded, wrapping his arms around Geralt’s torso, tucking his face against Geralt’s shoulder. Geralt had never initiated this before.

He tried to savour every moment of this, of Geralt’s musk wrapped in with the faint scent of leather and the lingering smell of campfire smoke clinging to his armour. He could smell the lavender oil he used to wash Geralt’s hair with, and the chamomile soap he used for his body. It felt like home, and Jaskier squeezed a bit tighter, wanting to pour everything he felt but couldn’t quite say into the physical contact. Geralt softened into it, drawing Jaskier even closer. Jaskier could feel his soft exhales fluttering against his hair. They stayed there for a time, not wanting to shatter the moment.

Eventually Geralt pulled back, but he gripped gently onto Jaskier’s upper arms. “Be careful, Jask.” He felt a small shiver pass through him as he heard the nickname Geralt rarely used. It felt intimate in this moment. “If I don’t make it to Ellander-“

“No, Geralt-“ He pleaded softly, he tried to cut him off, he didn’t want to hear it-

“Please. If I’m not there in three month’s time, start heading north, towards Kaer Morhen. Wait for Eskel, Lambert or Vesemir at Ard Carraigh, they’ll take you with them. I’ll send word to them before I leave, so they’ll be expecting you. Please. I need to know you’ll be safe.”

“Okay. But only if I have to.” Geralt nodded and released his grip on Jaskier’s arms.

They both picked up their packs, and Jaskier headed downstairs, his lips pressed tightly together, Geralt behind him. Jaskier felt fragile for the first time in a while, shaky with the thoughts of war.

Yennefer was waiting for them outside in the stables. Geralt and Jaskier went silently to their own horses, saddling them up and tying their packs to the back. Once Jaskier was done, he led Potato out of her stall, and into the yard.

“Let’s walk towards the edge of the city, no use making a portal here,” Yennefer suggested once Geralt had finished up with Roach. They both nodded and the three of them walked together in silence.

Yennefer stopped once they'd left the city walls. “Okay. I’ll portal you and your horse to Ellander, and then you Geralt, and then I should get back to Aretuza.”

Jaskier went over to Yennefer, not sure how to say goodbye. He decided on putting a gentle hand on her arm, and giving it a small squeeze. “Thank you for warning us, Yen. Stay safe.”

Yennefer looked shocked at his warmth for a second, then smirked. “Got to keep you two out of trouble, you’d be lost without me.” She hesitated. “Stay out of harm’s way, Jaskier. Lay low.”

Jaskier chuckled quietly. “Don’t worry Yennefer, I won’t get up to my usual antics.” He then walked to where Geralt stood quietly, staring intently, and laid his hand gently on his arm. “When you get to Ellander, I’ll be staying with my cousin, Aleksander Pankratz, in the royal district. Get a room at The Greenleaf Inn there, and send word to him, and I’ll come and meet you.” Geralt nodded. “Keep Ciri safe. I’ll see you both soon.” Geralt didn't say anything, instead reaching up and squeezing Jaskier's arm.

Jaskier gave Roach a little goodbye pat, his throat tight with emotion. She whuffed softly at him. He then grabbed Potato’s reins, and nodded to Yennefer.

She opened a portal with ease and stepped through it. Potato was initially skittish, but eventually he was coaxed through with sugar cubes. The familiar smell of Ellander was immediate, and he could recognise the street they were on as being close to his cousin’s house.

Yennefer turned to him, still holding the portal open for herself. “See you soon, Jaskier. Keep out of trouble.” Then she smirked at him, a glint in her violet eyes. “Geralt doesn’t need anymore nightmares.”

“Yen, what-” before he could finish, she stepped back through, still smirking at him, and closed the portal.

Nightmares? Jaskier searched his memory, and dimly recalled Geralt talking about nightmares when they met up again. He still couldn’t understand what that had to do with him.

Still deep in thought, trying to figure out Yennefer’s smirk and the hint she was quite obviously dropping him, Jaskier started making his way to his cousin’s house, knowing he would get quite the surprise at his sudden visit.

***

Geralt growled as he killed the last necrophage with his bare hands. Starting to limp away from the pile of them he had built up on his makeshift battleground, he grunted in pain. He looked down to his left thigh, where a necrophage had ripped away part of his pants and taken a large chunk out of his thigh.

“Fuck.” He could feel the effects of the necrophage’s toxic bite coursing through his veins as he stumbled to where his sword was plunged into the ground.

Cintra had fallen, he couldn’t find Ciri after all his searching, and he couldn’t make it to Ellander to Jaskier so they could head to Kaer Morhen together.

He felt a twinge as he thought of Jaskier. His legs weakened and he collapsed to his knees, fighting to stay conscious.

“Not a happy ever after, after all.” He thought of Jaskier; the smell of sandalwood and honeysuckle, of lavender oil on his hands, of chamomile soap. Fresh, and bright.

His promise to stay safe.

How Witchers never get to die sound asleep in a bed, next to someone they love.

“A fitting end, huh Roach?” He grunted as he collapsed into the earth, and sunk into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for Ch6: Brief mentions of war and loss, description of Geralt killing some necrophages. 
> 
> Shhhh it's fine! He's only unconscious! You've seen the TV show (probably), you know what happens!
> 
> Sorry not sorry for the angst! I promise I'll give you the next chapter soon! It's a doozy, filled with softness and fluff!
> 
> If you enjoy my writing, please leave a kudos or a comment, it would make my day! <3
> 
> Coming Soon, Chapter 7: A Very Good Thing


	7. A Very Good Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier was on edge. Without word from Geralt, which wouldn’t be safe anyway, he had no way to know if he’d managed to get Ciri, no way to know if they were even alive.
> 
> But there was no way he would leave Ellander until the three months were up. Nothing could make him move, unless by force (he really hoped it didn’t come to that, because that would probably mean getting captured by Nilfgaard, and that was an unpleasant thought).
> 
> ***
> 
> Alternative chapter title: Ciri and the Two Idiots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took longer than expected to get out! I started a new job and things got busy almost immediately, as they do. But here's the fluff and softness, with a side of cute parenting moments. 
> 
> Also, I have a beta now! Thank you to eternally--exhausted for helping out!  
> https://eternally--exhausted.tumblr.com/
> 
> ***
> 
> This is my first foray into writing literally anything, let alone a multi-chapter slow burn fanfic!  
> So of course, naturally, I wanted to do a fix-it/getting together thing.
> 
> This is my first time writing at all, so please be kind, and please, if you enjoy my writing style, and you have an idea for something else you'd enjoy, let me know!
> 
> Inspired by this Tumblr post:  
> https://mystic-majestic.tumblr.com/post/619085276921331712/theres-something-nice-about-reading-mutual
> 
> And also inspired by wanting to use specific show moments to help aid the story!
> 
> ENJOY! :)
> 
> P.S: Content Warnings in the end notes!

Jaskier was on edge. Without word from Geralt, which wouldn’t be safe anyway, he had no way to know if he’d managed to get Ciri, no way to know if they were even alive.

But there was no way he would leave Ellander until the three months were up. Nothing could make him move, unless by force (he really hoped it didn’t come to that, because that would probably mean getting captured by Nilfgaard, and _that_ was an unpleasant thought).

He hoped desperately that the two of them were okay. He’d met Cirilla many times, having performed at numerous royal banquets for Cintra, up until two years ago when Calanthe had realised that he was probably a liability because of his connection with Geralt. She was a sweet girl, fierce and bright, intelligent, with a spark of sass and determination. He’d played for feasts as she’d danced around the halls with her people, he’d taken ballad requests from her, he’d even given her birthday gifts where he could.

Then Calanthe had kicked him out of the city (politely asked him to leave with the threat of trouble, but it was as good as) and he hadn’t seen her since.

He spent his days with his cousin Alexsander, or with Aleksander’s numerous noble friends. He was lucky to have a slew of them, and none of them were particularly phased about the war, of it reaching Ellander, so they were constantly having parties, which meant more work for Jaskier.

His cousin was surprised to see him turn up on his doorstep that evening, but Jaskier had stayed with him from time to time during the four years he and Geralt had spent apart, and Aleksander, whilst haughty and prone to gossip, was a good man and a generous friend. His noble friends were less so, most of them power-hungry and focused on climbing the ladder of society; but they paid very well, and he saved any coin he didn’t spend on necessities.

When they didn’t have some fancy banquet or luncheon or feast or party, he would perform at The Greenleaf, an inn down the road. He used it to collect information on Nilfgaard and any other useful information handily supplied through eavesdropping; and to keep an eye out for Geralt and Cirilla.

With only three weeks to go till the deadline, he was relieved when he finally received word from Piotr, the innkeeper, that his ‘two friends’ had arrived. He immediately packed all his supplies onto Potato, slung his lute onto his back, and got to The Greenleaf as fast as he could.

He set Potato up in the stables, giving him an apple, and grabbed his bags to take with him up to the room, heading inside.

He stood near the entrance, looking for the familiar white hair and golden eyes, or a small girl with golden hair, but couldn’t see anything. A small frown creased his features.

“Jaskier! I assumed you received my note?” The innkeeper, Piotr called out to him as he walked over, wiping his hands on his apron. He sighed with relief. Piotr was trustworthy, had proven himself a good friend over the past two months.

“Yes indeed, Piotr!” Piotr nodded.

“They’re upstairs. The girl and the Witcher got in an hour ago, I sent word as soon as he got the room organised. Here’s your key. Will you be performing tonight?” Piotr handed him a key. Jaskier felt tension release from his shoulders a bit; if Piotr had seen a girl, then he wasn’t as likely to be walking into a mugging by Nilfgaard. He couldn’t be too careful these days.

“I’ll have to let you know, I’m not sure. Have they eaten yet?” Piotr shook his head. “Then I’ll request three large hearty dinners to be brought up, they’re sure to be starving. Have you any baked goods today?”

“Aye, just made some fresh pastries.”

“Then I’ll take three of those too, with the meals.” Ciri would be sure to enjoy that, treats would be rare on the road to Kaer Morhen. And Geralt often hid it, but he had a sweet tooth.

“I’ll get those to you soon. They’re in the last door at the end of the hall.” Piotr nodded and walked off.

Jaskier headed down the hall, heart fluttering in anticipation. It occurred to him that it might be a trap, so he stood further away from the door, right hand on the dagger at his hip, just in case. He knocked three times, then said, “it’s me.” Heavy footsteps thudded on the floorboards within the room, the sound coming closer, and the door opened.

Geralt stood on the other side. Jaskier breathed a sigh of relief at the sight. He looked tired, dirty, hair a mess, and dark circles under his eyes. But Jaskier thought he was beautiful. He always did. “My dear Witcher.”

Geralt’s eyes softened. “Jaskier.” Behind him stood a small girl in a deep blue cloak with the palest blonde hair Jaskier had ever seen.

He put his packs down next to the door and knelt down in front of her with a gentle smile. “Hello little cub, remember me?”

She nodded, a small tentative smile blooming. “Well darling, I’m going to help keep you safe. Does that sound okay?”

She nodded, throwing her arms around him. “I missed you,” she said, voice muffled into his clothing where she hugged him tightly.

“I missed you too,” he replied fondly. When she pulled away, he got up and observed the room.

It was a nice room, with two beds, a dining table with three chairs around it, and a warm fireplace.

“Well, I’m so glad you’re both safe.”

Ciri snorted, sitting down at the small dining table. “Barely. Geralt nearly got himself killed by necrophages before we found each other.”

“Necrophages?” Jaskier raised his eyebrow at Geralt as he sat down at the opposite chair. Geralt sat down at the end of one of the two beds, facing Jaskier as he explained.

“There was trouble at Cintra, and I couldn’t get to Ciri. I started heading north, and got swamped by a pack of necrophages at a refugee camp. The farmer who I’d helped save took me north in his cart whilst I was recovering, and Ciri was at his farm.”

“What a stroke of luck!” Jaskier responded.

Geralt huffed drily. “Stroke of destiny, more like.” But his eyes were warm as he said it, and Ciri smiled at him. It looked like they were getting along, and it warmed Jaskier’s heart.

Ciri turned to Jaskier. “Geralt says you’re coming with us to Kaer Morhen!”

Jaskier smiled. “Of course, I wouldn’t wish to be anywhere else! I’ve even been preparing for the occasion!”

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “You, preparing?” 

Jaskier could tell he was teasing and responded in kind, making an indignant noise that amused the young princess. “I’ll have you know my dear Witcher, with the amount of nobles I know here and the help of Piotr downstairs, I was busy every night while you were gone. People pay Jaskier the bard handsomely! I’ve squirreled most of it away in preparation.”

Geralt looked amused and impressed. He raised one eyebrow at Jaskier. “Saving coin? Hmm. No new fine doublets?”

Jaskier made another noise, prompting small giggles from Ciri. “Not a single one! Aleksander gave me a couple of sets, but that’s neither here nor there. No, I have been frugal and careful!”

Geralt hummed. There was fondness in his eyes, and Jaskier could tell he was trying not to smile. He felt warmth spreading through him from the centre of his chest. “I’m glad you’re both okay, Geralt.”

“You too.” Geralt’s lips twitched.

Jaskier sighed. “Really though, I did save carefully. I knew we’d need extra coin for supplies once we started heading north. I do, however, have a small gift for you, little cub.” Cirilla smiled as he rummaged through his pockets.

He pulled out a necklace and placed it on the table in front of her. It was simple, with a long chain so that it could be hidden under all of her clothing, but he’d gotten the gold circular pendant engraved with a lion and a wolf. She leaned closer, her eyes widening a little. “A little something to keep safe, to remind you of who you are, your past and your future.” He said softly. She stared at the necklace, not saying anything. Geralt stood up to look closer, and his eyes widened too, swimming with a multitude of feelings Jaskier couldn’t fully give voice to.

Cirilla looked up at Jaskier, eyes a bit teary, but she was smiling at him. “Thank you.”

Geralt put a hand gently on her shoulder. “Shall I put it on you?”

She turned her face up to him and nodded. Geralt lifted the chain from the table and placed it around her neck. He left his hands resting gently on her shoulders, comforting.

Never had Jaskier seen Geralt so open, so warm. He looked awkward and stiff in ways, unused to giving so much affection, but Jaskier could tell Ciri had already wormed her way into his heart. Geralt was doing his best to care for her, to give her what she needed. He was gentle and attentive, concerned and protective. 

Geralt looked up at Jaskier. “When we’re in public, call her Fiona. Her name will attract too much attention.” Jaskier nodded.

There was a knock at the door. “I’ve got your food, Jaskier!”

Jaskier got up from his seat. “Oh, I nearly forgot! I imagine you both must be starving!”

Cirilla perked up in her seat at the mention of food. “I could eat a horse!”

Geralt frowned, raising an eyebrow as he looked down at her. “No eating Roach.” Cirilla laughed, and Geralt’s lips twitched into a small smile. _Oh, be still my beating heart_ , thought Jaskier as he went to the door to open it.

Piotr stood on the threshold with his two young sons, who helped run the inn, their hands laden with food. Jaskier stepped aside while they placed the food on the table; three large bowls of stew with thick slices of buttered bread on the side, and a plate with the fresh, warm pastries.

“Thank you, Piotr! It smells absolutely delectable!”

Piotr chuckled. “You say that for every meal I bring you, young bard.”

“And every meal _is_ absolutely delectable!” Piotr chuckled and exited, closing the door behind him.

Ciri’s eyes were wide as she stared at the food, and she went to reach for the pastries, but Geralt picked the plate up before she could with a frown. “Stew first, Ciri.”

Ciri rolled her eyes, but she picked up her spoon and tucked in. Geralt placed the sweet buns back on the table, and pulled a chair out for Jaskier, seating himself in the remaining chair. They tucked quietly into their meals. It was the happiest Jaskier had been in months.

***

After dinner and dessert, Jaskier had headed to the main room, ordered baths for Geralt and Ciri, and then performed for the night, using his last opportunity in Ellander to earn even more coin for their travels. Geralt had agreed that having a night in a proper bed would do Ciri a world of good before they started trekking towards Kaer Morhen.

After numerous encores to drunken patrons, Jaskier scooped up his earnings and headed to their room. He quietly used his key, not wanting to wake the two of them.

When he got into the room, Geralt and Ciri were asleep, cuddled up on one of the beds. Ciri was tucked into his side, head resting on his shoulder, while Geralt had one arm curled around her back protectively. It was one of the cutest things Jaskier had ever seen. He smiled unabashedly at the sight, and quietly tucked himself in, smiling still.

***

They set off the next morning with plenty of provisions provided by Piotr to get started on their journey, and bought a few necessities from the market; an extra blanket and bedroll for Ciri, and some new boots for her, using a bit of the money Jaskier had saved. They made good headway, given that they both had horses now, and could switch Ciri between the two of them, evening out the weight that Roach and Potato had to take.

When they made camp in a small clearing, Geralt went hunting whilst Jaskier taught Ciri the process of how they set up camp, since she was curious about everything they did. He taught her how to build a good fire pit, where to place the bedrolls so that they were away from any smoke, and Geralt’s preference to have his bedroll as the closest to the road, to protect them. Then whilst Geralt taught Ciri how to skin and cook the rabbits he had gotten, Jaskier brushed Roach down. They ate their rabbit, supplementing it with some fruit from Piotr’s provisions. By the time they finished, Ciri was nodding off, and Geralt tucked her into her bedroll, and she fell asleep almost immediately.

Geralt then came back over to sit by the fire, next to Jaskier.

It occurred to Jaskier that this was their first time alone, now that Ciri was asleep, and they could speak freely. He looked across Geralt, to Ciri’s slumbering form.

“She’s a sweet girl.”

Geralt hummed in reply, looking over at her with a small smile. He paused for a while, thinking. “I was worried. I’ve never thought of myself as a father. I thought that after Cintra, after Calanthe, I might not be enough for her. But we seem to work.” He huffed in amusement. “I’m sure we’ll have fights eventually.”

“Maybe, but she respects you. She trusts you.” Jaskier said quietly.

Geralt hummed. “Never thought I’d have a daughter. I’m a Witcher; we’re unable to father children. The mutagens make us sterile. And I thought that if Ciri came to me eventually, she might hate me for claiming her. But now…” Geralt’s brow furrowed. “Now, I’m all she has left.”

Jaskier thought of everything Ciri had lost. Her parents, her grandparents, and her home. “She was probably relieved to find you, after everything. I can’t imagine losing that much.” A thought occurred to Jaskier. “Why couldn’t you get to her in Cintra?”

Geralt frowned. “Calanthe. She tried to lie to me, gave me a different girl that wasn’t Cirilla. The girl ruined that when she ran to say goodbye to Ciri. Then when I confronted her, Calanthe locked me up. Said something to the effect of ‘You and Destiny can fuck off.’”

Jaskier snorted. “That sounds exactly like Calanthe.”

Geralt hummed, agreeing. “When Cintra fell, I escaped, but I couldn’t find Ciri anywhere. She'd escaped, that was clear, but I didn't know where to start looking for her. So I started north, hoping it was the right direction. It was by luck, or… well, Destiny I guess, that she was at Yurga’s farm when we got there. I could feel it.” He paused in thought. “She’s got Pavetta’s powers.”

Jaskier’s eyebrows raised. “The scream thing?”

Geralt hummed. “She also asked about who Yennefer was. It was the first thing she asked, actually. I was thinking Yennefer could help train her powers.”

Jaskier’s gut clenched a little out of habit at her name, but he couldn’t deny Yennefer would be the right choice. “It makes sense. Seems like Destiny’s got it all worked out.”

Geralt’s frown deepened. “I never liked the way Destiny claimed me. Never had any choice in the path my life took.”

“Maybe not in the beginning, but you’ve made a multitude of choices since then.”

Geralt snorted. “My decision making has almost been worse than Destiny’s choices.”

Jaskier hummed, thinking. “Not necessarily. By choosing the Law of Surprise, Destiny helped you claim Ciri, which meant that she had someone to turn to when Cintra fell. By choosing the wish for Yennefer, Destiny claimed her to help raise Ciri, and train her powers. You and Destiny seem to be working in tandem.”

“Mm.” Geralt then looked at Jaskier. “What about you?”

Jaskier laughed. “Destiny never claimed me. I made that choice on my own.”

Geralt smiled at Jaskier, who could feel his heart start to pick up pace. “Trust you to make your own choices.”

“Would you expect me to do anything else?” Jaskier grinned.

Geralt snorted. “Course not.” A thought seemed to cross him then, and he tilted his head slightly, furrowing his brow in thought. “Where would you be if you hadn’t made your own choices?”

Geralt’s question threw Jaskier. He reflected over the past couple of months with his cousin, in the social circle he would have been in had he not been a bard. “I suppose… stuck in Lettenhove, being a Viscount, in a loveless arranged marriage purely for money and power, with boring gossiping nobles who do nothing but make other’s lives miserable. I would have never been a famous traveling bard... We would never have met.”

Geralt hummed gently. He stared at Jaskier with his golden eyes, contemplating. “It’s a good thing you make your own choices, then.”

Jaskier blushed; he couldn’t help it. “A very good thing,” he replied sincerely.

The air felt charged again. Jaskier could feel the butterflies in his chest. It was the same as the energy after Geralt’s threats on Valdo, and when they had tried to figure out how to say goodbye in Rivia. They stared at each other, Geralt’s golden eyes merely a rim of gold with blown-out pupils.

Ciri whimpered in her sleep, breaking the moment. Geralt looked over to her, frowning. “Nightmares.” He got up and went over to where she tossed and turned, to wake her up.

***

The next couple of weeks went by without incident, luckily. Their journey settled into an easy pattern. Sometimes when they rode, Ciri would sit in front of Jaskier and she would barrage them with questions, and he and Geralt answered whenever they could. Sometimes she would sit with Geralt, and Jaskier would get out his lute and play for her, and they’d sing together. Sometimes she would fall asleep, tired from the travel or her nightmares, and one of them would hold her whilst the horses moved forwards, enjoying the peaceful autumn that surrounded them.

They made their way to Ban Gleán, then continued north towards Ard Carraigh, Geralt picking up contracts along the way to earn them coin, Jaskier playing in taverns. Jaskier would sit back with Ciri whilst she watched the fights, when they could; and if it was too dangerous they sat back at camp, and he would teach her, continuing her education. His training from Oxenfurt came in handy, and he taught her languages, politics, manners, anything that she was interested in. She was curious and determined, and she quickly became his favourite student.

At nights when Ciri slept, he and Geralt had more talks by the fire together. The autumn night air began to grow colder, and the three of them began to sleep closer together to compensate, Ciri’s bedroll tucked between the two of theirs. If Ciri had nightmares, Jaskier or Geralt would hold her when she waked, and Jaskier had taken to softly playing lullabies on his lute until she fell asleep again.

One night, a couple of days ride away from reaching Ard Carraigh, Jaskier woke to the sounds of quiet whimpering, of gasped breathing. Jaskier rolled over and opened his eyes, ready to wake Ciri, but when he looked, Ciri was still and fast asleep, content. He looked past her, to where Geralt lay facing away. Jaskier could read the tension in his curled back, and Geralt’s breathing was fast, shallow and panicked.

Jaskier recalled what Geralt said about having nightmares and swore internally. He had no idea what would help Geralt; he’d rarely ever had nightmares around Jaskier, and Jaskier hadn’t ever been sure how to make it better, but he was damn well going to try.

He got out of his bedroll and walked quietly over to Geralt’s front, trying to figure out how to help. He kneeled down when he got to Geralt. His face was tight in a frown, and Jaskier could see his lips moving, muttering soundlessly, but couldn’t make out any words.

Geralt let out a gasp, and another whimper, and Jaskier made up his mind. “Geralt? Geralt, wake up.” He said quietly. There was no response, just more tight breaths. “Geralt, it’s okay, it’s not real, you’re safe, we’re safe-”

Geralt’s eyes snapped open. His eyes were frantically moving, but glazed, until he locked onto Jaskier’s face. He gasped and sat up, his hands and eyes fluttering over Jaskier’s face and body.

“You’re okay Geralt, it was just another nightmare, we’re safe.” He placed his right hand on Geralt’s shoulder, to try to ground him, but Geralt was still looking him over intently, his eyes wide with concern.

“Blood, so much blood, Jask-” he stuttered out. Blood? Whose blood? Jaskier felt a pang of concern. The horrible things Geralt must see, he’d been through so much. Sometimes it surprised Jaskier that he didn’t have more nightmares.

“Geralt, it wasn’t real, it’s okay.” He kneeled closer, instinct taking over, and he kept muttering quiet reassurances. Geralt kept looking him over, still worried, and Jaskier realised with a flash: it must have been him in the nightmare. Yennefer’s hint suddenly made a fair bit more sense, though why she wanted him to understand that Geralt had nightmares about him, he still didn’t get. He tucked that away for later thought.

Geralt seemed to figure out where he was, finally, and that he was awake. Some of the tension left his shoulders, and he raked his hands over his face and through his hair. Then he sighed, collapsing his arms into his lap, slumping more into the half-turned position he had gotten into in his scramble to check over Jaskier.

“Fuck.”

Jaskier hummed, unsure of what to say. Geralt hadn’t shoved his hand off yet, or moved away, and he didn’t want to move in case Geralt thought he was rejecting him or something, so he stayed put.

“Don’t feel obliged to answer me or anything… but can I ask, what happened?” Geralt tensed under him. Jaskier could sense Geralt seeming to put up an internal wall, and he sighed. Wrong question. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked, I’m sure you don’t want me prying.”

He went to pull his hand away, but Geralt grabbed his wrist. “No, wait-” Jaskier didn’t move away.

“I’m not going anywhere, I can stay. What do you need?” He asked gently, quietly.

“I don’t- just- don’t go.” Geralt seemed stiff, uncomfortable, like he wanted something that he couldn’t put words to.

“I won’t. I promise. I won’t leave you.”

Geralt stayed still, his hand still gripping Jaskier’s right wrist. Jaskier made a decision. He slowly slumped onto his left hip, mirroring Geralt’s half-turned position, and wiggled closer to Geralt, till their thighs were touching. He slowly moved his left hand to Geralt’s right arm, giving Geralt time to pull away if he wanted. He didn’t.

Jaskier put his hand gently onto Geralt’s arm, and began to rub soothingly. Geralt seemed to lean into the touch, closing his eyes, and let go of Jaskier’s wrist. Jaskier moved his right hand to comb soothingly through Geralt’s hair, who leaned into the touch, relaxing further.

“That’s better. I’m not going anywhere, Geralt. I promise. I want to be here, by your side. I’m safe, and you’re safe. Just breathe.” He said quietly as he kept combing through Geralt’s hair, and rubbing his arm. Geralt hummed gently.

His eyes opened, searching Jaskier’s face. “Can I- Jask-”

“Anything.” He promised gently, with a smile.

Geralt still seemed hesitant. Jaskier knew he was probably battling with himself about whether he was allowed to ask for help or comfort, and waited patiently.

“Can… can I hug you again?”

Jaskier’s heart sped up, and he smiled. “Of course. I would like that,” he murmured gently.

Geralt reached over and pulled Jaskier into him, curling his arms around Jaskier, who responded in turn. He could smell the chamomile, lavender and leather scent again and relaxed into Geralt’s strong, yet gentle arms. They stayed that way for a long time, taking comfort in each other.

***

In the morning, Ciri woke first.

She sat up and rubbed her eyes, yawning silently. She was so grateful to finally have a night of nightmare-free sleep, only the third since finding Geralt. She stretched her arms up in another yawn, feeling content.

She turned to her left to see if Geralt was awake, and grinned to herself.

In the night, Jaskier and Geralt had fallen asleep on each other. Jaskier was laying on top of Geralt, who was on his back, arms curled around Jaskier’s torso protectively. Geralt’s nose was tucked close to his head, his soft exhalations ruffling Jaskier’s hair.

She went to relieve herself, trying to move as quietly as possible so as not to disturb the perfect image.

She wondered when they’d finally figure their shit out. She’d known within the first couple of days how the two of them felt about each other, it was so blindingly obvious that it made her want to roll her eyes. The way they manoeuvred around each other, the teasing, the soft looks, the care. It reminded her of her grandmother and Eist, their dance of affection.

She could tell Geralt of course, that his love was returned. But it was so much fun sitting back and watching them slowly but surely creep towards the realisation, that she never wanted to mention it. She was content to just watch and enjoy feeling smug about it.

She wondered if Yennefer knew. Maybe when she met her, they could make a bet on how long it would take.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for Ch7: Nightmares, discussion of nightmares, mention of bleeding (in nightmare, not real life). Small moment, nothing too graphic.
> 
> Next instalment is where we finally get to Kaer Morhen! Woohoo! It's not done yet, but I'm having so much fun so far!
> 
> If you enjoy my writing, please leave a kudos or a comment, it would make my day! <3


	8. Four Witchers, A Bard, and a Young Princess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaer Morhen was absolutely stunning.
> 
> It was old, and crumbling, just as Geralt had said. There were patches of moss and lichen growing on the stones, vines creeping over rock walls, and patches where the stone was cracked or had crumbled. The frequently used sections of the keep had been clearly maintained and repaired over time, whereas the sections that were not necessary for the Witchers had been left to crumble.
> 
> But it was also magnificent and formidable, rising out of the beautiful landscape with a majestic and important air. The Kaer Morhen Valley was lush with green trees surrounded by snowcapped peaks, the Gwenllech winding through the Valley. The morning was cold and bright, sun streaming down on them, a perfect early-winter morning. Jaskier was in awe of everything, song lyrics and melodies already forming in his mind.
> 
> They followed the path that led to the front gate, dismounting their horses to lead them along the trail and across the drawbridge. Geralt led them through the portcullis, confident in his step, whilst Jaskier brought up the rear with Ciri. They were led into an outer courtyard, where Jaskier could see three Witchers waiting for them in a group.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've finally arrived at Kaer Morhen! We have Witcher family antics, lots of humour and teasing, and plenty of fluff and softness. 
> 
> Also, there's an official chapter count! Things are ramping up! It may shift, but I reckon 11 is about right :)
> 
> This was a whopper to write, at just shy of 15,000 words, so thank you for your patience, and enjoy this mammoth chapter! <3
> 
> ***  
> Thank you to eternally--exhausted for being a superb Beta!  
> https://eternally--exhausted.tumblr.com/
> 
> This is my first foray into writing literally anything, let alone a multi-chapter slow burn fanfic!  
> So of course, naturally, I wanted to do a fix-it/getting together thing.
> 
> This is my first time writing at all, so please be kind, and please, if you enjoy my writing style, and you have an idea for something else you'd enjoy, let me know!
> 
> Inspired by this Tumblr post:  
> https://mystic-majestic.tumblr.com/post/619085276921331712/theres-something-nice-about-reading-mutual
> 
> And also inspired by wanting to use specific show moments to help aid the story!
> 
> ENJOY! :)
> 
> P.S: Content Warnings in the end notes!

Geralt strapped the last of the bags to Potato and Roach’s saddles, waiting for Jaskier and Ciri to make it back from paying for their room at the inn in the last town along the Gwenllech river. The weather had gotten progressively colder; winter was coming soon, and it was a good thing they were so close to Kaer Morhen. They’d done some shopping the day before, Jaskier’s saved coin coming in handy for buying Ciri and Jaskier some warm clothing for the cold winter that was to come.

They hadn’t talked about the nightmare since he’d woken up that morning four days ago, still curled around Jaskier. Ciri was already awake, eating and smiling smugly at Geralt like she knew something he didn’t. Geralt had gently lain Jaskier down, who managed to still stay asleep, and began packing up camp. He pointedly ignored Ciri’s smug look when she asked him if he’d slept well, and when he merely grunted in response, she somehow managed to look even more smug.

 _She’s going to be a handful soon_ , he thought to himself. Just the thought of being responsible for Ciri’s manner in such a way made him want to crawl back into bed. Preferably with Jaskier.

He couldn’t deny to himself that he had slept well that night, the best he had in a long time. It was as if being able to feel Jaskier in his arms meant the nightmares stayed away. If the real Jaskier was clearly pressed against his chest, alive and well, no vision of him in trouble could take hold of him. He could smell the unique, soft scent that was Jaskier, of sandalwood and honeysuckle, chamomile and lavender surrounding him, his nose buried in his hair, and he had felt calm. At home.

Geralt couldn’t believe Jaskier had stayed there and fallen asleep, had trusted him that much. He wasn’t sure when Jaskier had fallen asleep against him; one moment he was comforting Geralt after his nightmare, and the next moment, Jaskier’s soft breathing had mellowed out in his arms. Geralt had carefully laid them down still holding him, trying desperately not to wake him. He didn’t want to risk Jaskier leaving his arms, the moment had been too precious to ruin.

They’d gone back to their usual routine, of sleeping with Ciri curled between them for warmth and shelter. But Geralt missed the feeling every night, aching for the feeling of Jaskier curled up against him, smelling of happiness and contentment. His sleep was of much poorer quality in result.

Geralt wasn’t sure what was happening. Everything seemed relatively normal. Their usual banter and their routines, both of them taking care of Ciri, it fell into a pattern they were used to. But at night they would sit quietly together, talking about everything and nothing. Sometimes Jaskier would play quietly on his lute whilst Geralt sharpened his swords. During those nights, Jaskier would catch Geralt’s eye and give this soft, gentle smile that made Geralt’s toes curl with the warmth of it. He thought maybe Jaskier had noticed the difference too, and if he had, Jaskier wasn’t shying away either. Which made Geralt hope.

Jaskier and Ciri bounded down the front steps of the inn, interrupting his musings. “Well my darling Witcher, we are all set!”

Geralt’s lips twitched, amused. “Took you long enough.” He mounted Roach as Jaskier made his way over.

Jaskier made an indignant noise at him as he helped Ciri up onto Potato. “Listen to that little cub, he doesn’t understand my worth in the slightest! You would never wound me thusly, would you?”

Ciri shook her head with enthusiasm. “Never!”

Jaskier grinned as he pulled himself up into the saddle behind her. “Well, I’ve found my new favourite Geralt, you’ve been replaced!” Ciri laughed and poked her tongue out at Geralt.

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “Does this mean I was your favourite?”

Jaskier’s blush reached to his hairline, and Ciri cackled in the saddle in front of him. Geralt nudged Roach into walking, feeling quite pleased with himself.

***

The trek through the Blue Mountains to the Kaer Morhen Valley was a treacherous one even for Witchers at times, but it was especially slow going with two humans in tow. The horses made things much easier, and Potato was proving to be a faithful and sturdy steed, but Geralt was stiff with awareness, trying to keep Ciri and Jaskier safe. He could see the tension in Geralt’s shoulders as they made their way up the trail. They swapped Ciri around less now too, because whilst Ciri and Jaskier could keep each other warm, Geralt didn’t need the help. Jaskier was glad for the extra warmth, and he could tell Ciri was too. The wind was often sharp and biting.

It took them a few days to make it up, the trek long and exhausting. They made camp the last night sheltered against a wall of rock, away from the wind, the horses picketed near them in the trees. Ciri had nodded straight off after dinner, exhausted from the journey, but Jaskier felt too excited to sleep. Geralt had mentioned Kaer Morhen often throughout the years, but now Jaskier was finally going to see a huge part of Geralt’s past. He sat leaning against the rock wall with his lute, gently plucking away, whilst Geralt sat on an upturned log across the fire, grinding various herbs and flowers for his potions.

Jaskier looked up at Geralt, white hair shining gold in the firelight. “I cannot wait to see Kaer Morhen. Decades of hearing about it culminate in this very moment!”

Geralt hummed. “It’s just an old, crumbling keep.”

“Geralt! It is nothing so boring and droll as that. It’s your history, your home! I can’t wait to see its beauty, the majesty of it all! And to meet your family too, why I am positively leaping with excitement!”

Geralt’s lips twitched. “They’ll disappoint you. Grumpy fucks, the lot of them.”

“Well you’re often a grumpy fuck, and you don’t see me caring.” Geralt snorted, and Jaskier grinned. “Who will be there?”

“Vesemir will be there for certain. Eskel and Lambert too. Others sometimes come, but they belong to different Schools. We’re the only Wolves left.” Geralt paused his grinding, and stared into the fire.

Jaskier felt an ache in his chest. He hated the disgusting way Witchers were treated, especially since they were now a dying race. “How many were there before the sacking?” He asked quietly.

Geralt’s jaw tensed. “Over 60 at least.” Geralt’s frown increased, and Jaskier could read pain in his eyes at the memories.

Jaskier wanted to say something, but had no idea what. How could he in the face of such sadness, such loss? It was unimaginable for him.

Ciri broke the moment, tossing and turning in her bedroll, whimpering in her sleep. He got up before Geralt could put away his equipment, and went over to her, kneeling down in front of her bedroll.

“Ciri, darling, wake up,” he said, gently placing a hand on her shoulder, “it’s just a dream darling, it’s okay. You’re safe.” Ciri’s eyes snapped open, her breathing tight and gasping. She reached up and pulled herself into Jaskier’s arms. He wrapped his arms around her, stroking her hair gently whilst softly uttering more assurances until the tension began to leave her body.

“Do you want to go back to sleep?” She shook her head tightly, her small frame still shaking.

Jaskier had an idea. “Why don’t you come sit with me for a bit? I was about to ask Geralt about his family. Might be good to know a bit about them before we meet them tomorrow, hey?” He asked gently. Ciri nodded. She was still trembling a bit, but she perked up at the mention of Geralt’s fellow Witchers.

Jaskier stood up, pulling her up with him, and walked with her back to the rock wall, taking a blanket to wrap her up in. She sat in his lap and he tucked her close, cocooning her, his arms wrapped around her. More tension began to leave her shoulders, and she breathed easier.

He looked up at Geralt. He was staring at them softly, his eyes almost amber in the light of the fire. “Well, Geralt, I do believe it’s story time! Please regale us with tales of your fellow Witchers.”

Geralt hummed. “Let me think.” He packed down his potion equipment, then came and sat close to Ciri and Jaskier, facing them. “Who should I start with, Ciri?”

Ciri smiled at Geralt. “Vesemir! Start with Vesemir!”

Geralt smiled fondly at Ciri. “Okay, Vesemir. Well, Vesemir was the first Witcher I ever met. He was the one that brought me to Kaer Morhen.” He looked away towards where Roach and Potato were grazing, deep in thought. “We camped in this exact spot the last night of our journey. I barely remember it.”

Ciri’s gaze turned puzzled. “How long ago was it?

“I don’t know for certain. Over 80 years ago, at least.”

Ciri’s eyes widened. “Wow, you’re old!”

Geralt snorted, turning back to them. “Vesemir is much older than I am, Ciri.”

Jaskier chimed in. “Any idea how old?”

“At least 300, I think.” Jaskier and Ciri gaped. “He was the fencing instructor. He may have been there when Kaer Morhen was new. He trained everyone that went through.”

“He must be something of a father to you then,” Jaskier said quietly.

Geralt hummed. “Closest I’ve got, really.”

“Does that make him my grandfather?” Ciri asked excitedly.

Geralt barked out a laugh, not expecting the question. “You should ask him, see what he says.”

Ciri nodded, clearly enjoying this. “Tell me about Lambert next!”

Geralt snorted. “Lambert’s a prick.”

Jaskier gasped. “Language, Geralt!”

Geralt merely raised an eyebrow in response. “She’s about to be in a keep full of Witchers, Jaskier, there’ll be much fouler language. Lambert’s responsible for about half of it. Swears once every four words, and teases everyone.”

“But will he like me?” Ciri asked quietly.

Geralt softened. “Of course he will, Ciri. He seems prickly on the outside, but he has a good heart. He’ll love you.”

“And Eskel too?”

“Definitely.” Geralt looked into the distance, thinking. “He and I went through the Trials pretty close together, did a lot of our training together. They’re… important to me. Like brothers.”

Geralt’s brothers. His family. Geralt calling them such meant they were incredibly important to him. Jaskier felt a trepidation for the first time. He didn’t want to screw this up. “What should we know before tomorrow? I don’t want to start things off on the wrong foot.”

Geralt paused, thinking. “Don’t stare at the scars. Stand your ground with Lambert. Vesemir can be harsh, but he cares. Help out. Witchers don’t usually trust humans. Don’t give them a reason not to trust you.”

Ciri nodded solemnly. She tried to stifle a yawn. Jaskier smiled. “I think that’s the cue for sleep, little lioness.” Geralt stood, leading Ciri over to her bedroll. He took the blanket from Ciri’s hands and she lay down, and he tucked her in. Jaskier packed away his lute, and looked up in time to see Geralt gently kiss Ciri’s forehead. He felt warmth spread from his chest, and he smiled fondly

Geralt stood up from where Ciri lay and looked at Jaskier, just in time for Jaskier to yawn. Geralt’s eyes were warm. “You too, Jask.”

Jaskier smiled back at him. “Yes, darling Witcher, coming.” He brought his lute case over near the bedrolls, and tucked himself on one side of Ciri, Geralt lying down on the other. “Goodnight, my dear.” He said gently, smiling at Geralt as he closed his eyes.

He quickly started to fade towards sleep, tired from the hard travels. Before he fell fully from consciousness, he heard a soft whisper. “Goodnight.”

***

Kaer Morhen was absolutely stunning.

It was old, and crumbling, just as Geralt had said. There were patches of moss and lichen growing on the stones, vines creeping over rock walls, and patches where the stone was cracked or had crumbled. The frequently used sections of the keep had been clearly maintained and repaired over time, whereas the sections that were not necessary for the Witchers had been left to crumble.

But it was also magnificent and formidable, rising out of the beautiful landscape with a majestic and important air. The Kaer Morhen Valley was lush with green trees surrounded by snowcapped peaks, the Gwenllech winding through the Valley. The morning was cold and bright, sun streaming down on them, a perfect early-winter morning. Jaskier was in awe of everything, song lyrics and melodies already forming in his mind.

They followed the path that led to the front gate, dismounting their horses to lead them along the trail and across the drawbridge. Geralt led them through the portcullis, confident in his step, whilst Jaskier brought up the rear with Ciri. They were led into an outer courtyard, where Jaskier could see three Witchers waiting for them in a group.

They seemed formidable and intidimating at first glance; three exceptionally tall, exceptionally muscular figures, covered in scars, with yellow eyes that gleamed. Vesemir was immediately apparent from his grey hair, and to Jaskier he seemed to hold depths of knowledge, and the weight of hundreds of years of existence in his form. Jaskier could see why Geralt said that Vesemir may seem harsh at first glance; his gaze was stern and silencing. Yet Jaskier could see kindness in his eyes as he raked over Geralt, clearly relieved to see him in one piece.

To Vesemir’s left stood another man, with close-cropped hair and a scar down one side of his cheek, in brown and black gear. To his left was another figure, with longer, shaggy brown hair, red and black gear, and a mess of scars on one side of his cheek that pulled at the side of his lip. Jaskier could see why they wouldn’t want to be stared at, and tried to avoid any direct staring at the scars in his attempts to acquaint himself with the new Witchers before them.

Jaskier hung back a step or two behind Geralt, Ciri’s hand in his, not wanting to intrude too quickly. He felt his breathing kick up a notch and his stomach begin to flutter with nerves. He didn’t want to fuck up first impressions. He focused on breathing deeply, wanting to stay present. He glanced at Ciri. She was standing strong, but he could tell she was nervous too. She noticed Jaskier looking and smiled up at him, and he smiled and squeezed her hand in unspoken support, then looked back to the Witchers to watch.

Vesemir walked forward and offered his hand out in greeting. “Survived another year, my boy. Welcome back.”

“Vesemir.” Geralt reciprocated by clapping his hand on Vesemir’s forearm in a sort of handshake. Jaskier could see the respect he held for his mentor in the distanced greeting, and supposed it to be a ritual they usually held each year he arrived.

Vesemir stepped back, and the middle Witcher stepped forward and embraced Geralt. “Geralt! About time, you bastard, any longer and you would’ve been snowed under!”

Geralt snorted as he hugged his brother. “Always one for dramatics, aren’t you Lambert?”

Lambert smirked as he pulled away. “I think I’ll leave that to the bard,” and he looked at Jaskier and winked. The gesture, even though cheeky and possibly inappropriate given they hadn’t even been introduced yet, was oddly comforting. He hadn’t even met Lambert and already the man was treating him with a sense of camaraderie. His breathing began to settle.

The third Witcher, who Jaskier assumed must be Eskel at this point, stepped forward, looking amused as he hugged Geralt. When he pulled away he clapped Geralt on the shoulder. “Good to see you.”

He then turned to where Jaskier and Ciri were waiting, a warm smile on his face. Jaskier immediately liked Eskel, his warmth putting him further at ease. “Ignore Lambert, it’s easier that way. I’m Eskel.” Behind him Lambert rolled his eyes, but Jaskier chose to ignore it in favour of making a good first introduction.

“Jaskier the bard, humbly at your service. I am truly honoured to be here. And this is Cirilla.” Ciri squeezed his hand tighter but kept her chin up and smiled at them.

Vesemir spoke up. “Welcome to Kaer Morhen, Cirilla.”

Jaskier heard Ciri take a deep breath next to him. She stepped forward a little, and released Jaskier’s hand. “Princess Cirilla, the Lion Cub of Cintra. You may all call me Ciri if you prefer. Vesemir… If you’re like a father to Geralt, does that make you my grandfather?”

Lambert guffawed and Eskel snorted. Jaskier clamped a hand over his mouth and tried desperately not to laugh. Geralt’s face was unreadable to Jaskier as they waited for Vesemir’s reply.

Vesemir, to his credit, kept his composure, but Jaskier saw his eyes widen minutely in surprise. A range of emotions flashed on his face: surprise, sadness, awe, fear, before settling on what Jaskier could only describe as fondness. “I suppose it does. You… may call me grandfather if you like.”

Ciri’s smile was effervescent. Geralt’s face was still unreadable to Jaskier, for the first time in a long time. He made a note to check on him when they were alone, not sure what he was thinking.

Lambert stepped forward with an eyebrow raised, curious. “What does that make me, little cat?”

Ciri smiled up at him. “Uncle Lambert, of course!” Lambert eyes widened and he fell silent.

Eskel spoke up. “Does that make me Uncle Eskel?” He was smiling, but Jaskier could see he was anxious to hear Ciri’s answer.

“Obviously!” Ciri declared.

Eskel’s smile widened and the anxiety seemed to fall away. “I would be honoured to be your uncle, little one.”

Vesemir seemed to have recovered from his shock. “Cub, why don’t Geralt and I show you around the keep? Jaskier, Eskel and Lambert will help you with the horses.”

Jaskier smiled. “That would be greatly appreciated, thank you!” Ciri walked forward to Geralt, who took her hand, and they walked into the inner courtyard with Vesemir.

Eskel and Lambert waited till they left, exchanged a grin, and both turned to Jaskier with the same grin. His immediate thought was _oh, shit_. He had the sensation that he was the prey, and the wolves were circling him, which was both an amusing and concerning metaphor.

Eskel grabbed Roach’s reins and together he and Lambert walked towards Jaskier, stopping in front of him. Jaskier’s mouth felt dry. They exchanged another glance, and Eskel nodded.

Lambert’s grin widened. “Good, Geralt should be out of earshot soon.”

Jaskier’s heart sped up. “Umm… why did you wait for Geralt to be out of earshot?”

Eskel grinned. “Because he’s a nosy little shit and we wanted to talk to you alone.”  
  
Lambert nodded. “Too right. He’s also an idiot.” He rolled his eyes. “Took him four years to apologise even though he wanted to the whole time. We had to watch him mope around the keep every winter.”

Eskel nodded, agreeing. “It was depressing. We tried to convince him but he was too busy being mad at himself. We knew you’d accept his apology if he could just get his head on straight.”

Lambert grinned at Jaskier. “Feels great to be proven right. Makes me want to say ‘I told you so’. Probably will, too.” Eskel rolled his eyes at Lambert, smiling.

Jaskier was dumbfounded by the entire exchange. “You haven’t even met me until now! Why would you both be so certain I’d accept his apology?”

Eskel’s smile softened. “You stuck with him for twenty years. You’d know better than anyone that he pushes people away when he’s scared, or angry at himself. Knew you’d accept his apology if he meant it. Didn’t need to meet you to know that, the proof is right there.”

Jaskier felt completely scrambled. He hadn’t known what to expect when he met Eskel and Lambert, but it wasn’t this. Two Witchers, who hadn’t even met him, had already grasped the extent of his friendship with Geralt, the lengths to which they would go for each other. He could only nod in his shock and confusion, trying to absorb the conversation that had just happened.

Eskel clapped him on the shoulder. “Now, Jaskier. We’re all aware Geralt is terrible at stories.”

Lambert snorted. “Atrocious.” Jaskier raised an eyebrow, not sure where this was leading.

Eskel’s hand was warm on his shoulder, but not tight or threatening. “We want to know everything. How did you wheedle Geralt into letting you follow him around the Continent for twenty years, composing songs about him?”

Jaskier grinned. This, he could do with ease. “Ah, my fine gentlemen, it would give me the greatest pleasure to share with you the fine tales of the friendship of Geralt and his humble bard! Now, it all started over twenty-five years ago in a modest tavern in Posada, where I was singing to earn my bread…”

***

Jaskier was pleased to discover that Eskel and Lambert were extremely responsive to his stories. It certainly helped that they knew the subject of his tales intimately. It gave them an understanding of how Geralt behaved, and thus made the stories all the more entertaining to tell. In the time that they spent leisurely unpacking and brushing down the horses, he retold some of their greatest adventures together, including Posada and their run-in with the elves, the banquet at Cintra where Geralt claimed Ciri, and many more of his favourites.

Eskel and Lambert were gruff, rough around the edges like he had come to expect from Witchers, but they were entertaining and fun to talk to. Lambert’s humour was crude and inappropriate, but Jaskier was no innocent cherub, and he could tell that as long as he kept his boundaries clear, Lambert could be quite fun to be around. Eskel was kind and warm, clearly nervous about the network of scars on his face, but Jaskier kept up his usual stream of constant chatter and Eskel eased up, feeling more comfortable around him.

When they had finished brushing and feeding the horses, Eskel and Lambert helped carry their bags inside and gave him a rough tour of the place. The outer courtyard had the stables attached, as well as a ring for weapons training. There were various pieces of equipment strewn about the outer and inner courtyards for training. Some he could recognise from his youth, but others were foreign, possibly of the Witchers own design.

Inside, they showed him the huge main hall, with a giant roaring fireplace and armchairs dotted around it. There were furs and rugs on the floor to keep out the chill, and past the lounging area was a long dining table with benches surrounding it. Despite the tall ceilings and the size of the room, it still felt comfortable, cosy and warm.

There was an open archway leading to the kitchen, where a giant cauldron with an incredible-smelling stew was already cooking. There was an oven for bread and other baked goods, and a giant pantry area with stairs leading down into a cellar for storing items that needed to be kept cool. Both areas were filled to the brim with barrels, crates, chests, boxes, all stuffed with food; and Jaskier could only marvel at the amount of food Witchers must consume when they could actually afford it. It was clear Vesemir took great care of them over their winter, and Jaskier could see why Geralt always came back to him in spring looking much healthier than he did on the road.

Finally, they led him to his room, upstairs and at the end of a hallway. It was a sizeable room, with a fire crackling in the grate. There was a large bed, covered in furs, with a chest sitting at the end of it. To the left side of the bed stood a wardrobe for storing his clothing. To the right was a desk and chair with a window that looked over part of the valley. Two armchairs were placed in front of the fire.

“This room is wonderful! Thank you, my dear Witchers!”

Eskel smiled easily. “Geralt’s room is two doors away from you. The room next to you is empty. We were going to give you that one, but Vesemir thought you might like the view of the valley from here.”

Jaskier was warmed by the thoughtfulness. “Well, he was indeed correct! The view is magnificent. And where is Ciri’s room?”

“She’s in the room across the hallway. That way she’s close to both of you. And both of you are protected, as anyone trying to get to you would have to come up the stairs past Geralt, and that’s if they got through the three of us downstairs,” Eskel replied.

Lambert’s grin at that was feral. “Fuckers wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Jaskier chuckled uneasily. “Well, you’re not exactly expecting to be attacked, are you?”

Eskel shrugged. “We always expect to be attacked. That way, when it happens we’re prepared. If it doesn’t, pleasant surprise.”

Jaskier wasn’t sure how to reply to that, so he settled on nodding and agreeing.

Lambert shook his head abruptly and grunted. “Enough of that horseshit. Now bard, you like books, right?”

Jaskier brightened at that. “Do I ever!”

Eskel chuckled. “We’ll show you where the books are.” They led Jaskier back downstairs and to the back end of the hallway, where double doors opened into a modest-sized library. It was clearly well-kept, clean of dust and debris, and the ancient tomes were well-preserved. It was a veritable treasure trove for Jaskier, and he stood in the middle of the room astounded, Eskel and Lambert teasing him for it.

Lambert immediately ripped into him. “You’d think you’d never been laid a day in your life the way you’re gawking.”

Jaskier didn’t care about his teasing in the slightest. He was having a field day. “I’ve been laid plenty, I can assure you, and the pleasure almost doesn’t compare to this.”

Lambert snorted. “Don’t wank over the books. Vesemir would tan your hide, he takes great pride in the library.”

“Lambert my dear, whilst I love books, I don’t love them enough to masturbate to them.”

Eskel chuckled. “I’m sure you can find other things to think about instead.” Lambert immediately smirked at Eskel, and they both seemed to share some private meaning in the joke. When Jaskier stood there, still confused, Eskel raised an eyebrow. “Come on Jaskier, you can’t really think we’re that thick-headed.”

Lambert grinned at Jaskier. “Yeah, Geralt’s the one who’s thick-headed.” With that, they both started to leave the room, chuckling to themselves.

 _Fuck._ Jaskier suddenly got their meaning. How the _fuck_ had they caught on so quickly? His heart was pounding. What if they said something to Geralt? They’d only just got to Kaer Morhen, he didn’t want things to become awkward. And yes, things between them were going well, and they’d grown closer, but that didn’t mean Geralt would ever return his feelings. They could ruin things if they told Geralt.

“Oh, _fuck me_ ,” he muttered. This could end up being a giant disaster.

Lambert snorted from where they were waiting for him in the doorway. “I’m sure you’d rather that be Geralt’s job,” he called out, smirking at Jaskier.

Jaskier bounded up to them, desperate. “Don’t say a fucking word, I swear. Please. We only just got back to being friends, and it’s going so well. I can ignore my own feelings; I’ve done it for decades. Please.”

Eskel softened and placed a hand on Jaskier’s shoulder. “Course we’re not going to say anything. And it doesn’t change anything from our perspective. We still like you. _Right_ , Lambert?”

Lambert rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. “Obviously.” Then he grinned at Jaskier. “Doesn’t mean we’re not going to tease you about it when Geralt’s not around though.”

Jaskier sighed, suddenly tired. Today had been a rollercoaster of emotions for him. “Alright, but only when Geralt’s not around.”

Lambert’s grinned widened. “Brilliant.”

Jaskier wasn’t sure what he’d signed up for. But as the two Witchers grinned at him, the feeling of being a tasty morsel for the circling wolves came rushing back.

Jaskier rolled his eyes at at what seemed like a typical reply for Lambert. “I’m glad it doesn’t change anything. I’ve enjoyed being with you both today.”

Eskel squeezed his shoulder. “Us too, bard.”

Jaskier frowned, puzzled. “How did you two even figure it out anyway? Geralt’s never figured it out and I’ve been around him for two and a half decades.”

Lambert snorted. “Like I said, thick-headed. It’s so painfully obvious,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Has he even listened to the lyrics of _Her Sweet Kiss_?”

Jaskier blanched, shocked. “You know that song?”

“Course I do, bards play the damn thing all over the Continent. A bard played it in a tavern over a year ago, mentioned your name. Said it was the most tragic love song he’d ever heard.”

Jaskier blushed. “I wrote it the first year after our fight, and only sung it that year. I just felt embarrassed by it, after that.”

“Well, anyway, I told Eskel about it last winter, while Geralt was off sulking somewhere in the keep. Brooding in dark corners like a fucking vampire.” Lambert frowned.

“I figured you must have had feelings for Geralt,” Eskel chimed in. “It was the only thing that made sense. So we kept pushing for Geralt to apologise to you, to give it a chance. That you'd forgive him if he asked.”

Lambert frowned darkly. “Took all fucking winter. Even then we only got a maybe out of him.”

Eskel looked sad as he gazed at Jaskier. “He was convinced you’d never accept his apology.” He smiled at Jaskier then, small but genuine. “I’m glad you did.”

Jaskier wasn’t sure what he was feeling, overwhelmed by all the new information. He tried to wrangle his thoughts together to sort out a response, but could only manage to say, “of course.”

Fortunately, that seemed to satisfy Eskel. His smile grew, tugging at his scars. “Now, why don’t you go drop Geralt’s bags off? He’s in his room. Ciri’s taking a nap in hers. Dinner should be soon.”

Jaskier nodded and headed off, saying goodbye to Eskel and Lambert when they went into the kitchen. He went upstairs to his room and picked up Geralt’s bags. He took a second to breathe, finally alone for the first time all morning, thinking over Eskel and Lambert’s words.

He’d known Geralt was prone to self-loathing, but this new knowledge made it clear how difficult it must have been for Geralt to be so brave to admit his faults and apologise to Jaskier, face to face, knowing Jaskier could still reject him. The fact that Eskel and Lambert had to push him to even think about apologising was almost no surprise. But Jaskier could hear what Eskel didn’t say: that Geralt hadn’t even thought he was worthy of being Jaskier’s friend, that Jaskier would never think he was worth forgiving.

He hoped that the past year they’d spent together proved otherwise. Especially with all the progress they’d made in their friendship, learning about how to treat each other better.

Jaskier frowned to himself, another thought occurring to him. Eskel and Lambert had figured out Jaskier’s possible feelings, and that had made them decide to push Geralt to apologise. Why? It was almost as if they thought Geralt might… but that would mean they thought Geralt cared about Jaskier that way too, that Geralt loved him.

Jaskier’s hopes began to rise, against his will. But he decided he could be patient, wait and see. If Geralt _did_ feel the same way, it would take Geralt time to process that and to even be willing to take the next step. Jaskier could wait, though. He’d wait for Geralt, no matter what.

He shook himself out of his thoughts, picked up Geralt’s bags and headed to Geralt’s room, knocking gently. The door muffled the heavy footsteps coming closer, and Jaskier watched as it swung open.

Geralt had divested himself of his armour in the time they’d been apart. He was in his black shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbow, and his tight black leather pants. He looked relaxed and comfortable, and all the more attractive for it. Eskel and Lambert’s more lewd comments popped into his mind, unbidden, and he promptly shoved them down, attempting to bury them so that he could talk to Geralt like a normal human being. Well, as normal as Jaskier could be, at any rate.

He smiled and held up the bags. “I come bearing gifts, my dear!”

Geralt hummed and stepped away from the door to allow Jaskier in. He walked further into the room as Geralt closed the door behind him. It looked mostly the same as Jaskiers, but with the desk and chair on the left side of the bed and the wardrobe on the right. There was a window behind the bed, but it was covered by thick, heavy curtains. The room had a warm, cosy glow to it, from the fire burning in the hearth. On the desk were a few stacks of books, and Geralt’s armour sat on the floor next to the wardrobe.

Jaskier placed most of the bags on the floor at the foot of the bed, and then walked to the desk to place his potions bag safely on top, not wanting the glass bottles to get damaged. Then he turned around. Geralt had sat in one of the armchairs by the fire and had a heavy book on his lap. He was gazing at Jaskier and nodded to the other chair in silent permission, and Jaskier took it, glad to be sitting down.

He sighed in contentment, the cheerful blaze making his toes curl in pleasure. “The journey to get here was fun and all, but I am so relieved to be here in front of a nice warm fire.”

Geralt hummed, agreeing, staring into the fire. Jaskier suddenly remembered his promise to himself to check on Geralt. “I wanted to ask, are you okay? You seemed… distant, in the courtyard earlier.”

Geralt was surprised by the question, glancing at him with raised eyebrows. Then he looked into the fire, frowning in thought. Jaskier was glad he’d become adept at reading Geralt, and could see that the frown was one of contemplation and not anger at his prying. Geralt was silent for a while.

“I… wasn’t actually expecting Ciri to ask Vesemir that question.”

“To be fair, I didn’t expect her to ask that either. She was trembling beside me when we first got here.” He chuckled. “I guess our cub decided to be bold.”

Geralt hummed. “I asked her why. She said… she wanted to be sure Vesemir accepted her as part of the family.”

“I wouldn’t have expected him to reject her.”

“I asked her what she’d have done if he said no.”

Jaskier raised his eyebrows. “And what did she say?”

Geralt frowned further. There was a long pause, as if Geralt was struggling to get the words out. “That she would have been sad, but she would have stuck with me. She wants… she wants to call me her father.” He seemed thrown by it, which made sense to Jaskier, but not unwilling. He had seen how quickly the two of them had grown close, before they’d met up in Ellander, and wasn’t surprised Ciri wanted to address him as her family.

Jaskier smiled. “That’s good. That’s a really good sign, Geralt.” He paused. “I guess it makes sense. Vesemir is the head of your family; she wanted to be accepted by him too.”

Geralt hummed, but his frown didn’t ease. “We’re not a family. We were a school of Witchers. We don’t have family. Lost them a long time ago.”

Jaskier finally understood Geralt’s confusion, the source of his unease. “Ah. You think that there isn’t a family for her to join into. I’m sure it seems odd, Geralt, but think about it. Do you look up to Vesemir?” Geralt gave an affirmative nod, still frowning. “Did you grow up with Eskel and Lambert?” Geralt nodded again. “Did you get into trouble with them, play pranks on them, worry about them if they got badly hurt?” Geralt hummed, his frown decreasing slightly.

Jaskier smiled. “That’s what it was like with my father, my brothers, and sister. I idolised my father. He was a good father and a great Viscount. He cared greatly about his people and his lands. I love my brothers and my sister. We used to play pranks on her sometimes, and she’d yell at us for it, but she would always run to me when she got a scraped knee or a bruise.”

“Anyway, that’s the point. You care about Eskel and Lambert and Vesemir. You’d be heartbroken if they died. You play pranks on each other, yell at each other, but you’re there for each other when you need it. You look after each other when you’re injured. You look up to Vesemir, respect him, care about his opinion. He looked after you as a kid, watched you grow up. You may not have ever called yourselves a family, but you are a family, in all the ways that count.”

Geralt hummed, his frown wiped away. He stared at Jaskier for a moment, golden eyes a shade of amber in the flickering firelight. “Thank you, Jask.”

Jaskier smiled. Before he could reply, there was a loud knock on the door. “Get your asses out here! Dinner’s ready!” Jaskier rolled his eyes at Lambert’s yell, still smiling fondly.

Geralt’s lips twitched as he stood up, setting his book down on the armchair. “Hungry?”

“Absolutely famished!” He stood up and they went to the door, Geralt opening it for him.

Lambert yelled at him from the stairs as he started back down to the kitchen. “Bard, grab your lute! We expect grand entertainment after our feast!”

Jaskier whooped in joy, grinning, and ran to his room. If he’d looked around, he would have seen Geralt smiling fondly, watching him as he ran to his room.

***

Dinner with four Witchers, a bard and a young princess was as loud and rambunctious as Jaskier had expected. He knew he probably added quite a bit to the volume, but found he didn’t care. Eskel and Lambert kept Ciri and Jaskier entertained by telling them stories, arguing back and forth every now and then about each other’s inaccuracies.

Jaskier sat next to Vesemir, who had properly introduced himself before dinner and thanked him for the good his music was doing for their profession. Vesemir shook his head at the antics of Lambert and Eskel, but Jaskier could see a fond glint to his eyes as the pair argued back and forth. Geralt sometimes joined in on the arguments, which greatly amused Jaskier. Lambert had thrown a bread roll at Geralt’s head at one point, which had continued into a tussle on the floor, the pair of them laughing at each other as they grappled, and only stopped when Vesemir bodily pulled the two of them apart, muttering about stupid cubs.

After dinner was done and everything had been cleared away, Lambert and Eskel asked Jaskier to get up and sing for them, and he happily obliged. They sat in the armchairs dotted around the fireplace, Ciri in Geralt’s lap as Jaskier launched into song, taking requests from the Witchers and Ciri.

Ciri asked for a dancing tune, and managed to persuade a blushing Eskel into dancing with her, and it was one of the cutest things Jaskier had ever seen: a giant, muscled, hulking Witcher gently holding a small, pale-haired princess and dancing with her. Not to be beaten out of anything, Lambert brazenly declared he should get to dance with her next, and then proceeded to blush his way through dancing with Ciri, holding her as if she was the most precious thing in the world.

When Ciri thoroughly exhausted from her dancing, which was after the two songs, he performed a few of his more famous ballads, avoiding _Her Sweet Kiss_ like it had the plague. He hadn’t performed it in years, and after his conversation with Eskel and Lambert he definitely didn’t plan on ever performing it again. Geralt didn’t need to hear it. Besides, he had plenty of other ballads.

He finished to resounding applause from Ciri, Eskel and Lambert, a respectful nod from Vesemir, and a small, fond smile from Geralt. The small, fond smile was his favourite reaction, setting his adrenaline-affected heart racing ahead.

He flopped into the empty armchair, tired but elated. Geralt handed him a tankard of water, and he gratefully gulped it down. Ciri yawned, covering her mouth.

Geralt hummed. “Looks like it’s time for bed, cub.”

Ciri frowned. “No, not yet!”

Vesemir stood up. “You’ll need a good sleep if you’re to start training bright and early tomorrow morning.”

Ciri immediately perked up, eyes bright and wild. “Training? I get to train! YES!” She bounced on Geralt’s lap, who was smiling fondly at the back of her hair as she pumped her fists into the air with joy.

Vesemir nodded. “You too, Jaskier.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened in shock. “You want me to train?” Geralt’s head snapped to look at Vesemir, frowning.

Vesemir ignored Geralt and nodded at Jaskier. “I expect you to. You travel with a Witcher. The Path is dangerous. You need to know how to defend yourself. Lambert will come and wake you up.”

Lambert grinned wolfishly. “I won’t be kind about it either.”

Vesemir’s eyes narrowed as he turned to Lambert. “You will be kind, or you’ll be repairing the walls in the outer courtyard by yourself.” Lambert scowled as Vesemir turned back to Jaskier. “And I won’t take no for an answer. I need to know that you can keep yourself safe, and protect Ciri. It’s your duty now.”

And when he put it like that, Jaskier couldn’t really argue with him. Ciri was important to him, and he cared deeply about her. He would do whatever it took to keep her safe. Why not be better equipped to protect her? It had been a while since he’d done any solid training, but with a whole winter of not walking anywhere, the training would be good exercise, and he’d feel comforted knowing he would have tricks up his sleeve to keep Ciri safe.

Jaskier nodded. “I’ll be there. But I’m warning you, I’ll be rusty.”

***

Geralt stood in the ring with Eskel, sweat already dripping down his brow, quietly warming their bodies up for training. The routine was so familiar and safe, that coming back to Kaer Morhen simply wouldn’t be the same without it. That wasn’t to say that they trained at the ass-crack of dawn every single morning; Witchers enjoyed a sleep-in every now and then too, especially when the snow banked up at the highest point of winter and they could barely get out of the doors. But it was all he’d ever known since he was a young boy. It was a comfort, the physical exertion clearing his thoughts, his strength and the ability to protect himself and others calming him.

Vesemir was with Ciri, going over the absolute basics of stance, and how to grip the small wooden sword she had been given. She was listening intently with a frown of concentration on her face, quiet and respectful of Vesemir. She asked questions every now and then, and he answered patiently. She was clearly keen, but when Vesemir had explained how important it was to get things right the first time so that she made fewer mistakes, she had agreed with a solemn nod and hadn’t protested once.

Geralt went to wipe down his brow, Eskel in tow as they sipped from their skins. “Your bard is clearly taking his time to get down.”

Geralt hummed. “He doesn’t like waking at dawn. He’s only gotten used to it because I threatened to leave him behind in his bedroll if he didn’t get up.”

Eskel smirked knowingly. “And yet you never actually left him behind.”

Geralt narrowed his eyes but avoided commenting on the smirk. “I did in the early years of knowing him. But he’s very persistent. Eventually I gave up.”

Eskel raised his eyebrow and his smirk transformed into a grin, but before he could comment on Geralt’s obvious reasons for giving up, Lambert strolled into the yard, Jaskier in tow.

As he caught sight of Jaskier, Geralt’s heart sped up; Jaskier had wisely not worn one of his fancy doublets for training, instead wearing a simple white cotton shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbow. He had tight brown pants on that showed off the shape of his legs. His chest hair peeked out from the top of the shirt, and Geralt’s mouth went dry.

In all his years of knowing Jaskier, he rarely wore anything so simple, and it caught him off-guard. Given their life on the road, he’d obviously seen Jaskier in less, but he’d usually avoid looking, not wanting his body to betray him. He looked good, striking in the simple ensemble. His blue eyes were twinkling in their sockets, his brown hair ruffled from sleep, and he was laughing good-naturedly at one of Lambert’s snide comments. To Geralt, he looked incredibly handsome, and he took another sip of water to try and quell the dry, tight feeling in his throat.

Eskel snorted next to him, clearly hearing his heart pick up pace. He growled and turned away to put down his water skin. Eskel was clearly in a kind mood, refraining from teasing him verbally when they were within earshot of Jaskier.

Vesemir stopped his work with Ciri to address everyone. “Good, you made it. Lambert, come and continue with Cirilla. Jaskier, you’re with me. Eskel, Geralt, you know what to do.”

Geralt was relieved for the distraction to try and get himself under control. He turned his body away from Jaskier, and Eskel took up the position opposite, and they began sparring, second nature taking over. He tried to focus all of his senses on Eskel, and honed into the fight. Behind him, he could hear Vesemir checking Jaskier’s stance and grip, and begin warming him up.

He and Eskel got caught up in sparring quickly once he focused. Out on the Path he kept up his own training routine, but training alone in a forest was different to fight against someone you were well matched against, especially as a Witcher. Geralt was a bit stronger than Eskel due to the second mutations, but only by a little, and he and Eskel were used to training together. Their sparring had become somewhat of a fluid dance over the many decades since they met as young boys, before the mutations.

Jaskier’s words about Eskel and Lambert being his brothers came back to him, unbidden, and made even more sense to him in this moment. They had been in each other’s lives long enough to move almost as one during their training. They knew each other’s style so well, they could almost predict the movements of the other. The rare occasions they took contracts together on the Path, they could anticipate what the other would do without needing words, things almost always going smoothly.

Eskel and Lambert had held him when he finally broke down after the mountain, had been with him through his self-loathing, frustration and grief. When he went through the second set of mutations, Eskel had been there for him every step of the way, as he screamed in pain. He had been there for Lambert when he’d gone through his own mutations; had held him as he cried and yelled out as the mutations tore his body apart, had taken the punches and kicks when the over-stimulation made him lash out, and had taken the teary apologies when he’d calmed down.

His thoughts brought him up short, and he became distracted, narrowly deflecting a couple of blows. “Geralt?” Eskel frowned, concerned. He grunted and put his focus back into the fight.

Sweat was dripping down his back, hair sticking to his forehead. Eskel looked much the same, his shirt beginning to cling in places. Both of them nodded wordlessly and stopped, going for their skins. Behind him he could hear Jaskier’s breathing, panting lightly with exertion, and Ciri’s heart thrumming in her chest.

Geralt turned around and leaned against the rock wall, just as Vesemir called out. “Lambert, let Ciri take a break and come here.” Jaskier wiped his sleeve across his brow, grinning at Vesemir, and went to drink from his water skin. Ciri trotted up to Geralt, sweating and grinning. She looked extremely pleased, and Geralt was glad she’d taken to training so well, had been so eager. He wasn’t sure what he would’ve done had she not wanted to train. He didn’t know what else he could offer her.

“Enjoying yourself?” He asked, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“It’s so cool! Vesemir said it was clear I learned a lot from watching grandmother, and it must be in my blood. Lambert said I’m going to be fierce and terrifying when I grow up. I can’t wait!” She said, grinning from ear to ear. He chuckled at her enthusiasm for being terrifying, not able to imagine it himself. No matter how she grew, he’d never be able to forget how she was now, young and skinny, barely coming up to his chest.

He raised an eyebrow at her, teasing her fondly. “You’ll never terrify me.”

Her grin turned feral. “Just you wait!” And she pounced, poking him in the ribs and chest and legs, giggling to herself. He chuckled and grabbed her, laughing when she squealed at him. He tickled her until she slapped at his arm to stop, grinning down at his tiny child.

She settled against him, turning around for a hug. “I’m sweaty, Ciri. It won’t be pleasant.”  
  
She kept grinning, her eyes closed, still squeezing him around the middle. “I don’t care. Your hugs are always good, father.”

He froze, his eyes wide. She’d asked yesterday to call him her father, and he’d accepted, but it didn’t mean he expected her to do it, and so casually, as if she always called him that. As if she accepted and loved him. He felt the now-familiar tightening of his chest, the emotion overwhelming. She noticed him tense and looked up at him, looking worried. He immediately felt guilty for making her look concerned and stroked her hair gently.

“Anything for you.” His throat felt tight, but he continued for Ciri’s sake. “Anything for my daughter.” She immediately teared up, cuddling closer to him.

He felt warmth spread from his chest, as he gazed down at Ciri, her arms circled around his back. She’d lost so much, and she had never met him before that day in the forest, and had no reason to trust him. And yet, she did. She had hugged him as soon as she saw him, relieved and exhausted.

And she loved him. He could smell it on her, sweet and warm and gentle, like honey, or strawberries. She touched him without fear, and accepted him as he was, grumpy, frustrating, and awkward. She didn’t care that he had yellow eyes or white hair. She didn’t care that he was covered in scars. She loved him anyway.

He promised himself, then and there, that he would do anything for her. She was so innocent, and precious, and if she trusted and accepted him, she would protect her from the harshness of the world. He would keep her safe and happy, no matter what.

Vesemir’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “When you’re ready, Jaskier.” Geralt looked up sharply; he’d been caught up in looking after Ciri, and had no idea what was about to happen. He glanced at Vesemir, as he pulled away from where Lambert and Jaskier were facing each other in the middle of the ring, but all Vesemir did was nod at the boys to start sparring. Ciri pulled away from him to stand next to Eskel, eager to watch the fight. Lambert and Jaskier raised their swords and began circling each other, both grinning eagerly. An anxious bubble grew and swelled in his stomach.

 _Fuck._ They were going to fight? Oh gods. Jaskier didn’t know what he was doing, he was going to get hurt, Geralt was sure of it-

Lambert swung at Jaskier and he deftly deflected the blow with a practiced ease. Lambert raised an eyebrow, impressed, and swung again, Jaskier deflecting again, dancing out of the way. Lambert went for him harder with his next blow and Jaskier parried with ease, yet again. He then went on the offensive, swinging his sword at Lambert, clearly skilled. Lambert blocked every blow, but Jaskier clearly knew what he was doing. The fight grew in speed and intensity, Jaskier matching Lambert blow for blow. He fought as if he’d done this all his life. Geralt was beyond shocked. Since when did Jaskier know how to swordfight? And with so much skill?

Geralt’s mind began to race as he searched his memories for hints from the last two decades. Flashes of Jaskier using a sword came back to him. Jaskier using Geralt’s steel sword to block a blow from a bandit trying to rob their campsite, as he lay severely injured from a difficult encounter with a bruxa. He’d held the hefty weight of the sword with ease. Jaskier stabbing a rogue mage in the back as Geralt killed the creature the mage was controlling. He’d moved with stealth and grace, holding the sword aloft with confidence. Jaskier facing down a drunk patron in a tavern after an encore of _Toss a Coin_ , with Geralt’s sword, angrily shouting at the patron for calling him the Butcher of Blaviken. Easily disarming the patron without hurting him, then knocking him out with the hilt of the sword when he continued to leer at Jaskier for being friends with “that thing”. He’d handed the sword back to Geralt with a shake of his head, muttering in frustration at the world that continued to treat Geralt with so much hate.

Geralt felt like an idiot. The signs had been there that Jaskier knew what he was doing with a blade. And he was a Viscount; he would have easily had access to the training as he grew up. And Jaskier could always defend himself when he and Geralt had to part for extended periods of time.

Still, his shock took a while to settle. Jaskier looked confident and strong. He was sweating, and flushed from exertion, but was grinning as he faced Lambert, clearly enjoying himself. His blue eyes twinkled with mischief and joy. His white shirt clung to him in patches, strands of hair dampening. Geralt could see the muscles of his forearm rippling as he gripped the sword, veins popping out starkly against his skin.

He loved Jaskier. He knew that for certain now, there was no denying it. But it had been a while since he had allowed himself to look and be drawn in by how attractive he found Jaskier. The bard danced around the courtyard with confidence and grace, and Geralt couldn’t help but look. He spun the sword around for show, taunting Lambert with a cheeky grin, who snarled and came up against Jaskier again. Jaskier deflected the blow and spun out of the way, laughing brightly. Geralt felt drawn to him like a magnet to metal. Jaskier’s blue eyes were blazing as he faced Lambert, his shirt sticking to him, revealing the taut stomach underneath, clinging to strong shoulders, rippling back muscles as he and Lambert traded blows, and Geralt felt heat pool in his belly and spread, his blood heating.

The two fighters were sweating heavily now, honed in and focused on the fight. Jaskier was no longer smiling; instead his brow was furrowed, honed in and focused on Lambert. Lambert was a Witcher, with extra stamina and endurance, and Jaskier was beginning to tire out. However, it was clear he didn’t want the fight to end without some flair. Jaskier blocked a blow of Lambert’s, and spun out of the way, spinning his sword in his hand a couple of times for show, before moving in on Lambert and delivering a series of blows. Lambert blocked them deftly and used the last one to his advantage, using his sword to spin Jaskier’s flying out of his hand, then held the point of his sword against Jaskier’s neck. They panted heavily for a second, catching their breath, before Jaskier grinned. Lambert rolled his eyes, pulling his sword away from Jaskier’s neck and sheathing it. “Impressive, little bard. Where’d you learn to do that?” He said, holding out his hand for Jaskier to shake.

Jaskier took it, grinning, and when he stepped away wiped his brow with his sleeve, walking towards his water skin as he talked. “I’m a Viscount. My parents, as soon as they accepted my dreams to travel the Continent as a bard, insisted on me training everyday. If I was to travel by myself, they insisted I know how to defend myself, should the need arise.” He paused as he took a sip of his water. “So, I had the best masters my parents could afford. I was very privileged.”

Vesemir nodded with approval. “I’m very impressed. There’s technique to work on, and we can extend your skills further, and I’d like to work on hand-to-hand combat. But you have the skill necessary to protect Ciri, should it come down to that.”

Jaskier smiled, pleased with the response. Eskel clapped his hands together. “Right, I think it’s time for lunch.” Vesemir nodded in agreement. Everyone started to shuffle indoors, Eskel taking Ciri’s hand and leading her inside, as she chatted enthusiastically about the fight.

Geralt chose to hang behind. Jaskier was standing in the middle of the courtyard, drinking from his water skin. He turned as Geralt walked towards him and grinned. “Not bad, huh?”

Geralt hummed, amused. “That was impressive. Could have gone a lot worse.”

Jaskier snorted. “Understatement of the century. Still, I’m relieved it’s all still there.”

Geralt nodded. “I had no idea you could do that.” A thought occurred to him. “Jaskier… why, if you had the ability to use it, did you never carry a sword with you?”

Jaskier looked uncomfortable. “Because, Geralt, I _hated_ needing to use it. For the first six months after I graduated Oxenfurt, I carried one with me. I’d promised my parents I’d be safe, and didn’t want them to worry. I walked around with it, feeling confident that most people wouldn’t want to attack someone who actually had a weapon on them.” Jaskier looked away and stared into the distance, shaking his head as the memories came to him.

“But I had so many people try to fight me purely because I had a sword, who thought I was looking for trouble, and I got sick of it. I only carried it for defence, never to ask for trouble. So I sold the sword. With it gone, it was easier to pretend to be a harmless, weak human bard, which meant I never really got targeted, and if I did, I caught most people unaware. Had the element of surprise.”

Jaskier sighed as he turned to look at Geralt again. “I can defend myself. And I know I need to be armed to defend Ciri now. But I hate raising a weapon against other humans. They can be greedy, suspicious, and nasty. People see me wielding a sword and they think I’m looking for a fight. They feel this need to be stronger than me. But if they see me holding a lute, it makes them happy and excited. I love being able to make people happy.”

Geralt understood. Jaskier only ever wanted to bring out the best in humanity. It was what he did: he made people dance and sing with joy, made people feel the widest and deepest array of emotion through his beautiful music. Jaskier wasn’t made for fighting, not like he was. Jaskier was a lover, a bringer of joy, peace and harmony. He nodded, and Jaskier’s shoulders loosened, relieved. Geralt stared at Jaskier, thinking about his own swords. “I understand. People see me and they think I’m looking for fights too.”

Jaskier’s blue eyes gazed at him, sadness swimming in their depths. “I know, and I hate that. It’s why I can’t stand it when people try to fight you, when they yell horrible names at you.” He then smiled a little, clasping Geralt’s upper arm. “And that’s why I sing my songs. People should look at you and see someone willing to defend them. They should see you and feel safe, knowing that you’re there to protect them from the monsters of the world. It’s what I saw back in Posada when I realised you were a Witcher.” Jaskier’s smile widened a little, fond. “It’s what I still see. Safety, protection, trust. I see you, and I feel safe.”

Geralt felt warmth spreading from where Jaskier gently gripped his arm, and felt his face flush. His throat felt tight. “Me too,” he murmured, hoping Jaskier would understand. His blue eyes sparkled, and his smile softened. He could hear Jaskier’s heart racing.

“Good. I hope you always feel that way.” He squeezed Geralt’s arm fondly, and Geralt smiled a little. Jaskier smiled back. “Right! I don’t know about you, Geralt, but I am starving. It takes a lot of energy to best a Witcher, after all!”

Geralt raised an eyebrow, trying to keep a straight face. “You didn’t best him, he disarmed you.”

Jaskier scoffed at him, waving a hand as if to dismiss Geralt’s comment. “Barely! Come on, you were impressed by my capabilities. Admit it, Geralt, you were stunned by my physical prowess! My strength! My stamina!” Geralt turned and walked towards the door, choosing not to answer, Jaskier’s teasing coming dangerously close to the truth. “Stubborn Witcher!” Jaskier called out behind him.

Geralt raised an eyebrow as he turned to look at Jaskier behind him, tilting his head. “I thought you were starving, bard. Or are you not that hungry, since you didn’t actually best a Witcher?” He smirked teasingly.

Jaskier made an indignant noise and jogged to join him. “You mock me now, but mark my words, Geralt of Rivia, you’ll be next!”

Geralt smiled as he and Jaskier strolled inside. “I’m terrified.”

***

Jaskier spent a pleasant afternoon in the library, with Vesemir’s permission. The Witcher had been keen (though he tried hard not to show it too much) to show Jaskier his incredibly precious collection. The library had him awestruck when he had first visited, but the more he learnt of the books from Vesemir’s explanations, the more he felt floored by the sheer magnitude of the collection. There were books inside that could possibly be one of a kind, and Jaskier eagerly asked if he could help Vesemir copy down those works into new, fresh books, so that there would be a second copy of the priceless texts. Vesemir readily agreed, clearly taking pride in his work.

Vesemir talked about each of the books and their ages, when he had picked them up, and the contents. Some books were hundreds of years old. Some books contained the first writings on monsters, some contained information on the uses of every plant on the Continent, and some contained detailed information on fighting and weaponry. There were illustrations of weapons that no one even used anymore, the styles outdated. There were beautiful coloured illustrations of monsters, some that had even gone extinct or evolved from the previous illustrations of them. At least half of the collection was priceless.

The most precious texts, to Jaskier especially, were old collections of poetry and music, as well as stories and folklore from several different races that were dying out or being killed by humans. Once Vesemir learned that Jaskier could speak Elvish, he had laid three books out of Elvish poetry for Jaskier to copy down. Jaskier had eagerly looked through the precious books, and Vesemir produced blank books for Jaskier to copy down the poems on.

“Where did you get blank books from so quickly?” He had asked Vesemir.

Vesemir almost looked sheepish. “I was going to attempt to copy these down myself this winter. But then…”

Jaskier had smiled. “…then a bard who has studied at Oxenfurt and speaks Elvish fluently happened to drop in just at the right time?”

Vesemir raised an eyebrow but was clearly fighting a smile. “I’d be a fool not to ask for help.”

“And I am happy to oblige!” Vesemir had smiled at that, unable to help himself. Then he cleared his throat and straightened his expression, nodded respectfully at Jaskier, and swept from the room. Jaskier shook his head fondly and knuckled down, beginning to copy down the Elvish poems.

He got so absorbed in his work that he lost track of time. When he heard the shouts announcing that dinner was ready, he quickly headed to his room, grabbed his lute, and headed downstairs, ready for what he predicted would be another boisterous and noisy dinner with the Witchers.

He was correct in his predictions.

There was another brawl on the floor, this time between Eskel and Lambert, after Eskel teased Lambert for a contract in which he’d nearly fallen prey to a succubus he was meant to kill. Vesemir had pulled them apart and cuffed them both on the back of the head, and they all sat down again, Eskel and Lambert looking sheepish. Jaskier was enjoying how much he’d seen the Witchers looking sheepish so far this winter. He was sure they’d all balk at the idea of being called adorable, but despite the outside impressions of most of the world, they seemed like giant cuddly teddy bears. With swords.

After dinner they retreated to their armchairs around the fire. He grabbed his lute and took a couple of requests from Eskel and Ciri, while Lambert cleaned up in the kitchen.

He’d just finished a dance song for Ciri when Lambert came back from the kitchen, with a stack of empty tankards in one hand and a giant bottle in the other. “This is pleasant and all, but I reckon this would be a whole lot more interesting with a fuck-load of alcohol. Whaddaya say, Eskel? Geralt?”

Eskel grabbed a tankard from Lambert, grinning. “I’m down.”

Geralt looked uncertain, glancing at Ciri. “I shouldn’t.”

Lambert rolled his eyes as he passed a tankard to Vesemir. “Come on, old man! What, you suddenly get a daughter and you’re too old and responsible to drink with your brothers? It’s just one night, you bastard!”

He handed a tankard to Jaskier and began pouring, before the smell hit Jaskier and he gagged, stopping Lambert from pouring. “What the fuck is _that_?”

Lambert raised an eyebrow derisively. “You’ve never drunk White Gull?”

Jaskier was startled. “ _White Gull?_ …I think that’ll burn me from the insides if I attempt to drink that.” He was struck by an idea. “Geralt, drink. Have fun with your brothers. I’ll look after Ciri and put her to bed later.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow, still hesitant. “Are you sure?”

Jaskier smiled. “You deserve to relax and enjoy yourself! Besides, I like a strong drink every now and then but that stuff smells caustic.”

Geralt paused, thinking. Then he nodded at Lambert, who immediately handed him a tankard and started pouring. “That’s the spirit, old man!”

Geralt grunted, looking grumpy. “You know I hate it when you call me that.”

Lambert smirked. “I’ll stop calling you ‘old man’ when you stop acting like one. Now, bard, got any drinking songs?”

Jaskier scoffed. “What kind of bard do you take me for? Of course I do!”

***

The night became raucous fairly quickly for the Witchers with the aid of White Gull. He’d never heard Geralt slur his words so much, and Lambert began to look unsteady on his feet before long. It was very amusing to watch the giant men get drunk and start stumbling over themselves. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen Geralt so relaxed.

Jaskier contented himself with a tankard or two of ale Vesemir handed him. He played plenty of drinking and dancing songs, and the increasingly drunk Witchers danced with Ciri as she laughed and squealed with wild abandon. Eskel and Lambert even sung along, loudly and out of tune, for the lyrics they knew to some of the more famous songs. Jaskier loved the boisterous sound, and seeing them all get to relax, the way they never could in the real world.

He took breaks to sit and listen to them trade stories and tease each other. He was sipping on his ale, smiling at a joke Eskel had just told them, when he glanced to the side and saw Ciri nodding off on her chair.

Jaskier smiled fondly at her. “I think it’s time to get you to bed, little cub.” Ciri looked up, blinking sleepily at him. He chuckled fondly. “Come on, darling. I’ll take you to bed and sing you a lullaby or two.”

She nodded and stood up, while Jaskier slung lute over his back. She wandered towards the door, her steps a little clumsy. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder to guide her to the door. As they exited, he heard Lambert declare a drinking challenge and Eskel and Geralt cheer in response. Jaskier snorted to himself, knowing they’d all have regrets in the morning.

He led Ciri upstairs, stoking the fire as she got herself ready for bed so that it would hopefully last most of the night. Then when she got into bed, he pulled the chair from the desk up to sit next to the bed, and played her a couple of lullabies. She fell asleep within minutes with a small smile on her face. He watched her for a minute, listening to her gentle breathing.

He reflected for a moment, feeling increasingly grateful for the circumstances that had led him to this point. Here, at Kaer Morhen, with his best friend in the whole world - a man he was hopelessly, irrevocably in love with - and the strongest, most brave, determined, fierce, loving little girl. Even though things had been painful and difficult at times, he wouldn’t change a thing about the choices that led him here. He smiled and stood up, tucking the blankets in around Ciri tighter, and kissed her on the forehead gently. Then he closed the door softly behind himself, and put his lute back in his room before heading downstairs to see what the Witchers were up to.

Jaskier walked back into the main hall. Utter chaos had clearly broken out in the time he’d been away, and Jaskier stood in the doorway, stunned as he looked at the mess in front of him.

Geralt and Eskel were having some sort of heated argument, both of them standing and stumbling drunkenly, spilling White Gull as they gesticulated wildly. “You’re my brother!” Geralt shouted into Eskel’s face, “I love you, you idiot! Fucking deal with it!” Eskel burst into tears, and crushed Geralt in a hug, which he eagerly responded to. Eskel sobbed into his shoulder, patting Geralt on the back with enough force to bruise any normal human, both of them spilling White Gull all over the floor.

Lambert was lying on a fur in front of the fire, face down, slowly stroking the fur with one hand, empty tankard still gripped in the other. Vesemir was fast asleep in his chair, snoring loudly and muttering to himself.

Jaskier tried not to laugh out loud, practically bursting with the urge. A snort escaped him against his will, and Lambert looked up from where he was stroking the floor. His pupils were wide, like an over-stimulated cat. “Little bard! Little bard, little bardddd… the floor is fuzzy, little bard. Softtt…”

Jaskier smiled, his chest tight as he tried to stifle a laugh. “I can see that,” he choked out. Lambert went back to stroking the fur rug, purring at it.

He looked up when he heard Geralt making shushing noises. Geralt had somehow wrangled Eskel into one of the armchairs and was sitting on the arm, stroking Eskel’s hair clumsily. Eskel was hiccoughing and wiping away his tears. He glanced up as Jaskier slowly made his way over, and smiled. “Jaskier… you’re a good man, Jaskierrr…” Eskel’s eyes began to swim with tears again. “Not enough men around like you, little barddd… humans are always scared of us…Geralt! Geralllttt, you look after him, okay Geralt? Gerrra-hic-Geralttt… promise meeee…” Geralt nodded solemnly and continued the little shushing noises, patting Eskel’s head, pupils blown wide.

Jaskier smiled and took pity on them all. “Thank you, Eskel. Now, doesn’t it seem like time for bed? Hmm? A soft, plush, comfy bed, in a room with a warm fire, nice and cosy?”

Eskel nodded, and then kept nodding. “Yesss, bed, yes, yes –hic-,” he stood up, wavering, and gently made his way over to Jaskier, his eyes wide. He stared sadly down at Jaskier, who waited patiently to see what Eskel did. “Jaskierr… look after Geralt, okay? You’re -hic- you’re good for him.”

Jaskier smiled at Eskel. “Always, dear Eskel. Now, off to bed with you.” Eskel gently pat him on the cheek a couple of times and stumbled off through the door.

Jaskier looked down at Lambert as he kept stroking the carpet. “Lambert, isn’t it time for bed? Aren’t you sleepy?”

Lambert nodded as he kept stroking the carpet. “Sleepyyy… sleep… bedtime!” He declared, and immediately passed out on the carpet, snoring contentedly. Jaskier snorted fondly, shaking his head.

He turned to Geralt, who was now standing, wavering in place, staring at Jaskier. “Geralt?” He called gently, as he made his way towards him. “Shall I help you get to bed?”

Geralt nodded, his pupils blowing even wider as Jaskier made his way towards him, the gold nearly invisible. Jaskier stopped in front of him. Geralt blinked languidly, then smiled softly at him. Jaskier smiled back, feeling like he was melting with the warmth on Geralt’s face. He offered his hand out gently to Geralt. “Here, my dear. Let me help you. Hmm?” Geralt looked down at the hand, his eyes wide as he carefully grasped it.

“That’s it, good. Let’s go.” He gently tugged at Geralt’s hand and he started walking alongside Jaskier. They managed to make it out the door, when Geralt stumbled. Jaskier managed to catch his chest with his other hand to stop him from landing on the floor. “Oops! I’ve got you.” He let go of Geralt’s hand, preparing to support him around the waist. Geralt softly let out a noise that sounded like a whine. His heart squeezed at the soft, cute sound.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you, I’m just switching positions.” He lifted Geralt’s arm and laid it across his shoulders, tucking in against his side, curling his left arm around Geralt’s back. “That’s better. Let’s keep going.”

The stairs were a bit of a mission, but it wasn’t like they were in a rush, so as long as they went slowly they could manage without Geralt stumbling too much. They made it up and kept going. Jaskier used the arm that wasn’t curled around Geralt’s back to open the door. “Here we are. Let’s get you into bed.”

He helped Geralt through the door, and Geralt tottered off to the bed, lying down on his back. He hummed contentedly, stroking the cover with both of his arms. Jaskier pulled off Geralt’s boots and placed them down at the foot of the bed. “There we are. Now, what about your clothes? Surely you don’t want to go to bed wearing leather pants!” Geralt grunted, shaking his head vigorously, and began undoing the laces. Jaskier tugged at them from the bottom, and eventually they got the pants off, and Geralt was left in his shirt and smallclothes.

“Good. Well, Geralt dear, you’d best get to sleep. I’ll, ahh… I’ll leave you to it, hmm?” He started to edge towards the door, not sure what else to do, when Geralt let out another whine and sat up quickly. He froze in place. “No? Don’t leave?”

Geralt nodded vigorously. “Stay,” he rasped. Jaskier guessed that the drink must have made him loosen his tongue. He seemed more earnest and wide-eyed. He wanted Jaskier to stay? He didn’t want to take advantage of Geralt. He was drunk, and might regret his actions in the morning.

 _Ah, fuck it_. Jaskier could deal with _that_ Geralt later. _Current_ Geralt was sitting in front of him, wide-eyed and pleading, and he couldn’t deny Geralt anything. Especially not when he looked scared that Jaskier would leave.

He nodded. “Okay,” he said gently. He looked at Geralt, puzzled as to what to do. “Where do you want me?”

Geralt held out his hand. “C’mere Jask.” His heart sped up. He nodded and walked to Geralt, clasping his outstretched hand. Geralt pulled Jaskier towards him slowly, still seated on the edge of the bed. Jaskier went willingly, and before he knew it, Geralt’s arms were around him, hugging him tenderly.

Jaskier felt happily overwhelmed by everything that was happening. Despite being completely drunk and nowhere near as in control of his strength as he usually was, Geralt was so soft and gentle with the way he pulled Jaskier to him, giving him time to pull away. Which he never wanted to do. Ever. Because of the height of the bed, Geralt was shorter than him, so he rested his cheek against Jaskier’s breastbone, and closed his eyes. Jaskier’s hands settled, his right gently carding through Geralt’s hair, the left rubbing gentle circles into his back.

Geralt hummed contentedly, and moved his head so that his ear was placed over Jaskier’s heart, which promptly sped up again. Geralt smiled, his eyes still closed. A thought occurred to Jaskier as Geralt listened to his heart. “Can you always hear my heart?”

Geralt nodded, his right ear still pressed against Jaskier’s chest. “Always. I like it. Then I know you’re alive.” Geralt hummed and turned his face so that his nose was closer to Jaskier’s chest, winding his arms tighter around his waist. “Can always smell you, too. Sandalwood and honeysuckle.”

Jaskier smiled softly, continuing his gentle strokes through Geralt’s hair. “I chose those scents years ago. When I found out other smells irritated your nose.”

Geralt pulled his face away from Jaskier’s chest and looked up at him, eyes wide. “Why?”

Jaskier smiled down at Geralt, stroking gently. “Because I didn’t want my smell to overwhelm you. There must be so much about the world that overwhelms you, with your extra sensitive nose; I didn’t want to be part of that too. I wanted you to be able to feel safe with me. To feel content around me.”

Geralt gazed up at Jaskier softly, his arms still around Jaskier’s waist. “You did that for me?”

Jaskier’s heart squeezed fondly as he looked down at Geralt. “Happily. I tried a lot of different smells to find the right one. And when I could tell that you liked the sandalwood and honeysuckle too, I never changed it. I like the smell.”

Geralt smiled and burrowed back into Jaskier’s chest, closing his eyes. “Mmm. Me too.” His brow furrowed a little, eyes still shut. “Don’t go, Jask. Stay. I want to sleep.”

Jaskier was confused. “You want me to sleep next to you?”

Geralt nodded against his chest. “I sleep better.”

Jaskier was floored by the honesty, surprised and confused. He slept better when he was next to Jaskier? His mind flashed back to when Geralt had woken up from nightmares, and he’d comforted him, only to fall asleep in his arms. He’d woken once during that night, realised where he was, and had burrowed closer to Geralt’s chest. Geralt had hummed contentedly, his nose tucked against Jaskier’s hair. His arms had been wrapped around Jaskier, gentle and protective.

It had been the best sleep Jaskier had gotten too. He’d woken that morning as Ciri and Geralt packed up the camp, and had never felt so content. He could still smell Geralt on his clothes, and had felt happier the rest of the day.

Well, if Geralt could be honest, so could he. “I do too.”

Geralt opened his eyes, turning to look up at Jaskier. “Stay. Stay with me,” he pleaded softly. The gold in his eyes had been all but swallowed by black pupils. He looked beautiful, and Jaskier felt his knees weaken.

Jaskier nodded, his throat too choked up to speak.

Geralt pulled away, pulling down the covers and repositioning himself so that he was more in the middle of the bed, then pulled Jaskier down on top of him without warning. Jaskier yelped in shock, but managed to catch himself so that he didn’t face-plant into Geralt’s sternum. He was immediately shifted so that he was on Geralt’s chest, lying on his stomach, their legs tangled together like they had been last time. He was completely surrounded by Geralt, who nuzzled into his hair and inhaled deeply, humming in contentment. Jaskier felt his chest rumble beneath him.

He chuckled and lifted himself up to look Geralt in the eyes. “My dear, at least let me get my shoes and doublet off!”

Geralt looked at him for a moment, then pulled his arms away reluctantly, looking sad. “Oh don’t be like that, I’m not going anywhere. I’d just much rather be comfortable!” He rolled off Geralt and sat up, quickly yanking off his shoes and doublet, chucking the doublet so that it landed on the chair in front of the desk. Then he eagerly climbed back on top of Geralt, who immediately wrapped his arms back around him.

Jaskier smiled and closed his eyes. “Much better.” Geralt hummed in response. “Now, don’t you get mad at me in the morning when you find me on top of you. I’m worried you’re not going to remember a second of this!”

Geralt chuckled, the sound resonating deep in his chest. “I’ll remember. Alcohol’s already wearing off anyway.”

Jaskier rested his chin on Geralt’s sternum and raised an eyebrow sceptically. “As if!”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “Jask, Witcher, remember? Plus, I went through two mutations. My metabolism is faster than Eskel and Lambert’s.”

Jaskier raised both eyebrows, surprised. “That much faster? How much must you have to drink to get as drunk as you did?”

Geralt hummed. “A lot. It’s why we drink White Gull when we want to get drunk. Works faster.”

Jaskier nodded. “Makes sense.” He smiled at Geralt. “Well, I’m not complaining, especially when this is the end result!”

Geralt didn’t respond for a second, as he stared at Jaskier lying on his chest. Then he hummed gently, and smiled softly. Jaskier responded, his lips curling of their own accord. Then he yawned, the warmth surrounding him and loosening his tired muscles. Geralt chuckled again beneath him. “Sleep, Jask. I won’t grumble in the morning.”

Jaskier smiled, closed his eyes and rested his right cheek against Geralt’s breastbone again.

“Goodnight, dear.”

“Goodnight, Jask.” He felt Geralt nuzzle closer to his hair and inhale deeply. He smiled against Geralt’s chest and slipped into a deep sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoy my writing, please leave a kudos or a comment, it would make my day! <3


	9. Hangovers, Hide and Seek, and Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He opened his eyes again and stared down at Jaskier, amazed.
> 
> Jaskier was fast asleep in his arms, snoring quietly, with a small, content smile on his face.
> 
> He really was here. It wasn’t a daydream or a fantasy. He’d hoped for this. Wished for it, not really expecting it to come true. He’d never wanted to want for anything, wish for anything. Wishes he made either never came true or got twisted and turned against him.
> 
> But not this. He’d simply hoped to fall asleep and wake up with Jaskier safe in his arms, and it had happened. No questions asked, no strings attached, no problems or complications. They were both safe and warm, content, both happy to be here.
> 
> Maybe he could have this. Just maybe. Maybe he could hope for other things too. Other things with Jaskier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY! This chapter has taken such a long time but it's finally here! Enjoy some sweet Ciri moments, some fun antics, and PLENTY of softness and fluff, which seem to just be my namesakes. 
> 
> Enjoy this 11,000 word whopper! Only one or two chapters to go! Thank you for your patience, hope you enjoy! <3
> 
> P.S. The reason this chapter took so long to get out is:
> 
> 1\. I wrote a modern AU one-shot, check it out! 
> 
> 2\. I have written the beginnings of a new modern AU series, the first story in the series is now done and should be up in the next week! (Featuring young Geralt, from Vesemir's POV, may also involve a zoo)
> 
> ***
> 
> Thank you to eternally--exhausted for being a superb Beta! All remaining mistakes are entirely my own doing!  
> https://eternally--exhausted.tumblr.com/
> 
> P.S: Content Warnings in the end notes! (There are none!)

Geralt woke up slowly, warm and comfortable, with a solid weight on his chest. His brain, still drowsy, reasoned that it must be the blanket - though when blankets had become this heavy and smelt this good, Geralt didn’t know.

As he eased into consciousness, pain came with it. His mouth felt dry and chalky, his stomach was churning a little, and his limbs felt tired and floppy. Geralt’s head felt like it had been cracked open like an egg, someone had stuffed sawdust inside, and then sewn it all back up. He was confused for a second. He didn’t remember getting injured; maybe he had suffered a head wound? Though it honestly didn’t feel like it, it felt more like a hangover if anything –

He groaned under his breath, smacking his lips together, trying to rid his mouth of the chalky feeling. Why the _fuck_ did he decide drinking that much White Gull had been a good idea?

Because he got peer pressured into it by his younger brother calling him an old man.

Urgh, Lambert. This might be the day Geralt actually made good on his regular promise to kill him.

Still, his blankets smelt abnormally good. Sandalwood and honeysuckle. Geralt’s favourite smell. He decided waking up could take a bit longer and nuzzled his nose into the soft hair of the blanket- Wait. Hair?

He opened his eyes cautiously. Jaskier was lying on top of him, wrapped in his arms, still asleep. His even breaths blew against Geralt’s shirt. He looked so content, so at home. Geralt liked him there, he decided. He curled his fingers into the soft fabric of Jaskier’s shirt, and closed his eyes again, thinking. It was easier to think without the bright morning light making his headache worse. How _was_ Jaskier here, cuddled on his chest?

The memories of the night slammed into him, and he fought off a small wave of nausea. _Oh._

Lambert challenged them all to a drinking contest, and got so blasted drunk that he thought push-ups would be a grand idea to burn the alcohol off. The alcohol hit him mid push-up and he nearly threw up on the fur before collapsing onto the floor.

Eskel, sad and drunk, said he wished they were a proper family. Geralt remembered Jaskier’s words from earlier, and said they already were, that they didn’t need blood to prove it. Eskel morosely said he’d never be worthy of a proper family anyway, which had made Geralt angry, and ended in him drunkenly yelling at Eskel until he understood how important he was.

Then Jaskier had happened.

Jaskier looked at him with those incredible, devastating blue eyes –like sapphires, that never failed to flay him open, leaving him vulnerable - asking if he wanted to go to bed. Geralt immediately accepted, desperately hoping Jaskier would stay with him again.

Jaskier helped him up the stairs, pressing his body close to Geralt’s side. He’d gently helped him out of his shoes and pants, his voice fond. He stayed when Geralt whined, hadn’t made fun of him, or thought him weak for wanting Jaskier to be there. His hands had been soft as they stroked his hair, and sandalwood and honeysuckle surrounded him.

He’d chosen his scent so that Geralt would be happy in his company. So that Geralt would feel safe with him, never overwhelmed. Jaskier stood above him, hands carding softly through his hair, his heartbeat a constant rhythm that never failed to soothe Geralt. Jaskier lay down and stayed with him, willingly, eagerly, head pressed against his chest and smelling of happiness and contentment.

And then Geralt had bragged that the alcohol was definitely wearing off already, assuring Jaskier that he wouldn’t grumble in the morning.

Well, _that_ had been a stupid promise to make. All he wanted to do was grumble.

Not at Jaskier though. Instead, he wanted to grumble at the world, tell it to go fuck itself and stay in bed all day with Jaskier curled up against him, breathing softly, heartbeat a constant reminder that he was safe, with Geralt, where he should always be.

He opened his eyes again and stared down at Jaskier, amazed.

Jaskier was fast asleep in his arms, snoring quietly, with a small, content smile on his face.

He really was here. It wasn’t a daydream or a fantasy. He’d hoped for this. Wished for it, not really expecting it to come true. He’d never wanted to want for anything, wish for anything. Wishes he made either never came true or got twisted and turned against him.

But not this. He’d simply hoped to fall asleep and wake up with Jaskier safe in his arms, and it had happened. No questions asked, no strings attached, no problems or complications. They were both safe and warm, content, both happy to be here.

Maybe he could have this. Just maybe. Maybe he could hope for other things too. Other things with Jaskier.

Geralt smiled privately, his heart light with joy, and nuzzled closer to Jaskier’s hair, inhaling the sandalwood and honeysuckle, letting the scent overwhelm his senses. He couldn’t believe Jaskier had chosen his perfume especially for Geralt, decades ago, so that he wouldn’t be overstimulated around him. It had become his favourite smell over the years. It was home, the promise of warmth, of gentle touches and care without conditions or motive. It was friendship and easy conversation, private jokes. It was the complete lack of fear, replaced by a sweetness that wafted as an undercurrent through everything Jaskier did for him, too precious and important a feeling to name yet. He shifted and manoeuvred so that his nose was tucked right against the top of Jaskier’s head. He drifted for a time, not going back to sleep, yet not really bothering with staying conscious, surrounded by Jaskier and the sound of his heartbeat, solid and reassuring.

Eventually he heard Jaskier’s heart rate increase, and Jaskier shifted in his arms. Geralt opened his eyes in time to watch Jaskier sleepily blink open his eyes, and look up at him. He smiled softly when he saw that Geralt was also awake. His brown, wavy hair was ruffled from sleep, and his blue eyes looked contented and pleased. Jaskier smelt like happiness as he looked at Geralt, and Geralt’s heart skipped a beat in his chest.

Jaskier chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through him. “Someone’s cheerful this morning.”

Geralt’s lips twitch upwards. “I slept well.”

Jaskier’s cheeks flushed with colour, his eyes fond. “Me too.” Jaskier shifted so that his chin was resting on Geralt’s sternum. “Wow, you weren’t kidding about not grumbling! I’m impressed, Geralt!”

Geralt winced as Jaskier’s chatter increased in volume. “Don’t talk so loud.”

Jaskier chuckled again. “Okay, so it _was_ boasting when you were talking about your fast Witcher metabolism, hmm?” Jaskier teased, his voice much softer.

“Fast metabolism doesn’t mean no hangover, Jask.” Geralt’s mouth still felt like it was coated with sawdust.

It was as if Jaskier read his mind. “Why don’t I bring you some water and food, see if that helps?”

Water did sound like an excellent idea. Grumpy about Jaskier having to leave him, he grunted in affirmation.

Jaskier chuckled again as he lifted himself off of Geralt, who barely contained himself from whining at the loss of contact. “What did you say about not grumbling?”

Geralt frowned lightly. On someone else he would have called it sulking. But Geralt obviously didn’t sulk, ever. “You’re going to lord that over me all morning,” he muttered.

Jaskier laughed softly as he turned away to pull on his shoes. “Only a little, my dear. Now, stay here and rest while I get changed and bring you food. Oh, I should probably go and check on Ciri and the other hung-over Witchers. _Gods_ , Lambert’s going to be a pain, isn’t he?”

Geralt chuckled. “Yes.”

Jaskier groaned as he stood up and walked to where he’d tossed his doublet during the night. “Stubborn Witchers,” he muttered, draping the doublet over his arm. He spoke quietly as he moved to the door. “Now, my darling, grumbly wolf, you stay here, and I’ll be back soon.”

Geralt hummed. Jaskier opened the door and slipped outside, closing it behind him. Geralt rolled over and clamped an extra pillow over the side of his face. He smiled at the sandalwood and honeysuckle that still surrounded him and immediately fell back asleep.

***

Jaskier opened the door just enough to slip outside, taking care to let as little light into the room as possible. Despite Geralt’s surprising lack of grumbling - he’d teased Geralt about grumbling, of course, but that was because he was shocked that Geralt had _smiled_ when he’d looked at Jaskier - he could tell the Witcher was in quite a bit of pain.

Jaskier was incredibly pleased by everything that was happening, but also slightly wary. Something was shifting between them, he could feel it. It was slow, and careful, but he was positive something was different between them. He couldn’t stop himself from staying hopeful over the years – no matter how hard he tried to squash those feelings down – but now it was as if he had an actual reason to be hopeful for their future. Geralt had looked at him as he lay on his chest with such softness, such warmth in his golden eyes. That he’d even wanted Jaskier to be there was a sign in itself. He could still smell Geralt around him as he made his way down the stairs to the kitchen.

Lambert was still asleep on the fur rug when he got to the main hall, snoring loudly, splayed out on his stomach like a starfish. Vesemir was in the kitchen slowly making breakfast for everyone. He looked a bit worse for wear, but had only drunk half as much White Gull as the other Witchers, so he was much better off than the rest of the group.

As he cooked, he confided in Jaskier that when they got drunk like this, he’d never force them into doing work that day – and he was sure that no one was in any state to train – so instead it was to be a rest day. Witchers worked hard during the year, after all, and they only let loose like this a couple of times during the winter. Kaer Morhen was their den for hibernation over the cold months. And since there were only four of them left, they often came back burnt out from the heavy workload. Vesemir couldn’t give them much, but he did all he could. The quiet admission had Jaskier smiling fondly. He couldn’t believe they all seemed startled at the idea of being called a family, when they so clearly were.

Together, he and Jaskier assembled breakfast plates for everyone and set about distributing them. Vesemir took one to Eskel’s bedroom along with two tankards full of water, and Jaskier gently placed the plate and tankards for Lambert next to him on the floor. He went back to the kitchen to grab Ciri a plate, choosing to leave Geralt for last so that Geralt could sleep longer. As he headed back out to wake Ciri up, he saw Lambert sitting on the floor, gingerly feeding himself some bread, his eyes almost fully closed to block out as much light as possible.

“Good morning, dear Lambert!” He said perkily as he walked past, taking enough pity on the fool to make sure his voice wasn’t _too_ grating.

“Fuck off, bard.”

Jaskier chuckled and headed upstairs to Ciri. He knocked on the door. “Ciri darling, I’ve brought breakfast!”

The door opened and Ciri let him in, taking the breakfast plate with a puzzled frown. “Why aren’t we eating downstairs?”

Jaskier realised with glee that Ciri had no idea just how drunk the Witchers had gotten last night – she had been falling asleep on her chair, after all, and they’d both missed the chaos when he’d left to get her into bed.

“Oh ho ho, my dear! Because all of them drank so much that they have splitting headaches and horrid hangovers. I very much doubt any work or training will get done today. Lambert slept face down on the floor of the hall last night.”

Ciri’s eyes widened and she grinned as she sat down on the armchair in front of the fire. “You _have_ to tell me everything!”

Jaskier tended to the fire, waking it up and putting another log in. “I will later, little cub. For now I have to make sure Geralt gets some food and water into him. After that though, I promise to come back here and tell you _everything_. How does that sound?”

Ciri thought over this with a careful frown. Then she grinned mischievously at Jaskier, an idea popping into her head. “You remember how you said you’d happily teach me to play the lute one day?”

Jaskier immediately caught on and grinned. “I did say that, yes!”

Ciri’s grin got even wider. “Well, I reckon we should do that today - after you tell me everything about last night, obviously.” She smirked at Jaskier. “I have a funny feeling I’m just going to be absolutely _terrible_ to start with.”

Jaskier cackled, unable to help himself. “You are fierce, my little cub.” She grinned back at him as she settled down to eat.

***

The day passed quickly for Jaskier. In between keeping the Witchers stocked up with plenty of water and food to chase away their hangovers, and trying to stop his lute from facing irreparable damage, it was a day full of excitement for the bard. Ciri sat diligently as he taught her the very basics of the lute, and then had walked around the hallways of Kaer Morhen making horrendous twanging noises until Lambert had chucked a shoe in the direction of the noise.

Jaskier had been positively joyous with the idea of Ciri teasing the Witchers for their hangovers until it looked like his lute could be smashed in the process. Horrified that his lute might be the thing to suffer for her antics, he had stolen it back from Ciri and hidden it away in his room.

Dinner was a significantly subdued affair. Ciri was pouty because she couldn’t terrorise her new uncles and grandfather with her frankly atrocious lute playing. The Witchers had since mostly recovered from their hangovers but were nowhere near as chatty as they had been the previous two dinners.

Over breakfast the next morning however, Ciri was still quiet. It struck Jaskier as odd. She wasn’t involved in conversation like she normally was, and looked a little pale. Eskel and Lambert had yet to arrive for food, completing a task for Vesemir, so only Geralt and Vesemir were present.

“Ciri darling, are you okay? You’ve been awfully quiet recently.”

Ciri stared down at her bowl of porridge, stirring slowly. “It’s just…” She looked up at Jaskier, her pale blue eyes sad. “I realised that it’s getting closer to Yule. And it’s weird to be spending it without…” She couldn’t say the words, but Jaskier didn’t need her to finish the sentence.

“Oh, my darling. Come here.” Tears started to slowly drip down her cheeks as she curled up in his arms, breakfast forgotten. “I know. I can’t imagine how it must feel. You can cry, it’s okay, I’m here.” She softly wept as Jaskier held her, stroking her hair gently, humming one of her lullabies.

He glanced up at Geralt as she started to quieten down. His golden eyes were full of concern and sadness. He stood up quietly and moved around the table to crouch in front of Ciri, as she sat in Jaskier’s lap. “Ciri… it might not be the same, but we could still celebrate Yule.”

Ciri sniffed and looked at Geralt. “Really?”

Geralt nodded. “It’ll snow soon. I’ll teach you how to make good snowballs. We used to have snowball fights all the time. There are some smaller pine trees on the eastern side of the Valley, we could easily cut one down and bring it in to decorate.”

Vesemir spoke up. “I’m sure we could make a nice Yuletide feast for the day.”

Jaskier stroked her hair softly. “How about it, darling? What else would you like?”

Ciri looked up at Jaskier, a bit more hope in her eyes. “Could we give each other presents too?”

Jaskier smiled. “I’m sure we could work something out.” She looked down at Geralt, who nodded.

Ciri’s smile was shaky and hesitant, but hopeful. “Okay,” she said quietly.

Eskel and Lambert chose that moment to burst into the hall. They both stopped in confusion when they saw the sight.

“What’s wrong?” Eskel asked, frowning in concern.

Geralt stood up. “We’re celebrating Yule this year.”

“Would you pups look at the pines on the eastern side of the Valley, pick a nice one to chop down and bring back?” Vesemir asked, taking charge so there would be no room for doubts.

Eskel nodded slowly. “Sure.”

Lambert looked thoughtful as he read the room and clocked Ciri’s red eyes. He reached some decision and carefully said, “I think I know some things we could use to decorate.”

Jaskier grinned as the Wolves began to discuss other ideas for decorations and Yule traditions. “How’s that, darling?”

Ciri smiled tentatively. “Thank you.”

Jaskier hugged her tight. “Ask and ye shall receive, my dear. It’ll be an interesting Yule for both of us, I’m sure.”

***

A day later, Jaskier stood in the hall with Ciri, a thick pine taller than Geralt standing in a large bucket packed with earth, as Ciri sifted through all the decoration materials.

Lambert and Vesemir had produced chests of fabric and old clothing they could cut up and use, as well as small toys and trinkets. When Jaskier asked where they’d gotten everything, Vesemir confided that most of it was collected over decades from the hundreds of young boys that had lived at Kaer Morhen over time. It wasn’t being used, and never would be, so Vesemir didn’t see the point in everything staying locked away in chests anymore. Better to give them a second chance, a new purpose.

Ciri held the small trinkets with reverence, picking carefully. Jaskier cut up some of the more colourful pieces of fabric to use as long thin ribbons to hang things on. They threaded pinecones and acorns onto ribbons, small wooden toys, old necklaces and pendants, large buttons, whatever they thought looked nice. Geralt lifted Ciri, squealing with joy, to hang the pendants on the upper branches herself. Her spirits progressively brightened throughout the task.

The final result was a Yule tree covered in the oddest assortment of baubles Jaskier had ever seen. It was homemade and rustic. It wasn’t expensive or flashy, and yet it was Jaskier’s favourite Yule tree ever. It had been decorated with care and love, and that was the best kind of Yule tree.

They sat in their armchairs for dinner that night, spooning stew into their mouths in front of the fire, the Yule tree standing near. Ciri was chattering away happily to Geralt and Lambert, the happiest Jaskier had seen her in the past two days. It felt wonderful to brighten Ciri’s spirits like this.

Jaskier zoned out of the conversation for a time, focusing on the delicious lamb stew. When he heard Ciri laugh, he snapped back to reality. Lambert was grinning as he talked. “We couldn’t find him for hours. A keep full of Witchers, and he just eluded all of us. Drove us fucking mad. He could smell and hear just a bit better than us, so he could tell where we were and move away before we even caught wind of him. Only got to him once he fell asleep.”

Ciri’s eyes were wide. “Where was he?”

Lambert snorted. “On top of the fucking roof, the bastard!”

Geralt was grinning. “Got top marks in stealth for that. The extra mutations came in handy.”

Jaskier was intrigued. “What’s this about?”

Lambert answered. “We used to play a version of hide and seek for stealth training purposes. Geralt ended up winning the most rounds, no matter whether he was hiding or seeking.”

Geralt was still grinning. “Good times.”

A brillant idea flashed in Jaskier’s brain. “Why don’t we do it again? It would be fun! You could also use it to teach Ciri about stealth and tracking!”

Geralt’s eyebrows rose. “Not a bad idea, actually.”

Eskel joined in. “It would be fun. I haven’t played hide and seek in years. Not since that time we were all drunk and Geralt fell asleep on the roof again.”

Jaskier laughed. “How can you fall asleep on a roof once, let alone _multiple_ times?”

Geralt shrugged. “The first time, I was much younger, not used to doing so much active tracking and stealth. I was cocky, reckoned I’d never get found, thought I’d lie down for a nap. The second time, I was very drunk.”

Jaskier laughed fondly. “After seeing what the White Gull did to you all, I’m not surprised.”

Lambert shuddered. “Let’s not talk about the White Gull again.”

Eskel grinned. “Yeah, we wouldn’t want to keep bringing it up. It would be embarrassing for your image. I mean, who hallucinates that they’re riding on the back of a giant cat?”

Lambert grumbled, frowning. “Fuck off.”

Vesemir stood up. “It’s agreed then. Hide and seek tomorrow. Geralt will team up with Ciri and teach her tracking and stealth. Everyone else will hide. And no moving from your positions, Ciri isn’t a Witcher. She doesn’t have your advantages, and is new to this.”

Ciri clapped with glee as the Witchers exchanged anticipatory glances. Jaskier felt incredibly proud of himself for his flash of brilliance. It would be a grand day, and keep Ciri’s spirits bright.

***

The next day dawned clear, bright and cold. Jaskier bundled up in one of the thicker woollen doublets and cloaks he’d bought before they trekked up to Kaer Morhen, and headed down for breakfast. Once finished, they stood in the inner courtyard together.

Vesemir cleared his throat. “Now remember what I said, pups. Choose a position and don’t move from it. This is about training Ciri, not about outshining each other. If you’re good, we’ll do one last round the old-fashioned way. Do no good for you to get soft over the break.”

All three Witchers brightened at the possibility of getting to do a no holds-barred round. They nodded, Lambert crossing his arms, their faces filled with determination.

Vesemir turned to Ciri. “Okay. Ready, cub? You count to one hundred, slowly. We’ll hide.”

Ciri nodded, bouncing on the balls of her feet where she stood next to Geralt.

Vesemir nodded. “Good. Turn around and start counting.”

Ciri and Geralt turned around, and Ciri started to count slowly. “One… two…”

Jaskier immediately trotted towards the door that led inside, purposely making as much noise as possible. The Witchers were much more careful in their movements, slower, measured.

Jaskier was not an idiot, despite _some_ people’s beliefs. Even though Ciri was human, young and inexperienced, she would have Geralt helping her, teaching her, and he was determined to not be the dumb, helpless human in the one thing he could easily do: hide. Any other game, he wouldn’t have a chance, but hiding from ex-lover’s spouses and the like had given him plenty of hiding experience, and hide and seek didn’t really require great feats of athleticism (unless you were a Witcher with a penchant for hiding on roofs). If he could throw them both off his trail by making them think he was going to be easily found, noisy, a bit useless, then it would be even better when they found him.

It wasn’t that he hated being human; he’d accepted his lot in life. He just enjoyed a challenge, especially if he had a decent chance at succeeding. So he trotted noisily through the hall and upstairs, and then immediately halted. Now, to think of a truly good hiding space.

Indoors felt too easy for the first round. Ciri could easily find him in a cupboard or under a bed or something, and it would be expected of him. The entirety of the keep was allowed, including the courtyards and -

Wait. There was a back door to the outer courtyard through the armoury. That could work. Jaskier slowly made his way downstairs, keeping his breath even and quiet, trying to step as softly as possible.

He made it all the way downstairs without tripping, carefully tiptoed all the way down the hallway leading away from the main dining hall and kitchen, and towards the front end of Kaer Morhen where the armoury was. Once there, he took a pause to make sure his breathing was settled, knowing Geralt could possibly still hear his heartbeat, trying to lessen any advantages he’d have. Then he carefully opened the armoury door as quietly as possible, taking it very slow. He closed it just as carefully behind him, and looked around at the outer courtyard.

_There,_ behind that barrel under the eaves, next to one of the old towers. He slowly made his way over and placed himself behind the barrel, seated so that the barrel should hide him from view.

Then, he waited. Both the most and least fun part of any game of hide and seek, waiting. And Jaskier wasn’t always the most patient of humans too. He almost expected to hear Ciri cry, “one hundred!” before remembering that her stealth was one of the other teaching opportunities for the game too.

Eventually, after a longer period than Jaskier expected, he could hear gentle footsteps, and a bit of breathing, before a small pale girl jumped in front of him and shouted “BOO!”

He gasped with genuine surprise, and she cackled triumphantly. He recovered quickly and made a show of cowering in fear as he stood, hands raised in surrender. “A ferocious lion! Oh please, please don’t eat me! I’m skin and bones, I’d make a terrible meal, so dull and gamey, dear lioness!

Ciri giggled, then screwed up her face and made a growling noise. It was purely, entirely cute and not threatening in the slightest, but Jaskier played along and ran to stand behind Geralt, yelling. “Save me! Oh mighty Witcher, protect me from the fierce and terrifying lion!”

Geralt’s lips twitched in amusement as he stepped away, leaving Jaskier open for attack. He gasped and pointed accusingly. “Betrayal! Betrayal of the highest order! Oh, this is truly the end for me! Goodbye, cruel world!”

Ciri continued her adorable growling and began stalking towards him like a cat, hands raised, imitating claws. Jaskier began a slow backwards retreat. “Oh no, please, I don’t want to die! I’m too young and handsome!” Ciri stalked closer, roaring occasionally. “Ripped to pieces by an adorable cat is not my idea of a noble death! I must keep my name intact with a heroic deed or everything will be for naught-” Suddenly his heel caught on a bit of raised flagstone, and he fell flat on his backside. Ouch. He definitely bruised his tailbone.

Geralt burst out in loud, barking laughter. Ciri started laughing too, as Jaskier rubbed his backside. Jaskier eventually joined in, unable to help himself. Ciri had doubled over from laughing so much.

Geralt’s laughter subsided somewhat, but his eyes were twinkling with amusement as he walked over. “Talking about heroic deeds and noble deaths, and you tripped over a stone.” He offered a hand to Jaskier.

Jaskier took it begrudgingly, embarrassed. “I’ll give you a noble death,” he muttered.

Geralt laughed again, this time warm and fond. “Come on, let’s get back to the others. You can continue your death threats once we’ve found you several more times.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Always so cocky. We’ll see, Geralt, we’ll see! You know I can’t resist a challenge!”

They proceeded with a couple more rounds. The next round, Jaskier hid in the giant pantry behind one of the giant barrels stuffed with potatoes. After that, in the stables in one of the empty stalls.

He was still searching for a new place for their fourth round upstairs. There were only so many times he could hide behind barrels and storage boxes, and he needed a new strategy. Maybe the empty room in between his and Geralt’s? He made it to the top of the stairs and tiptoed towards the empty door. He was just inches away from reaching the door when an odd noise made him turn around.

The air was shimmering and wavering behind him. Fuck, that couldn’t be good. The shimmering air coalesced down to a single point, then a circle began to spread out from that point. Someone had opened a portal in the middle of the hallway. _Shit_.

“Geralt!” He yelled, knowing Geralt would be able to hear him. He could hear pounding footsteps and yelling downstairs as the portal opened, and a shape was visible beyond it. His heart was pounding in his chest. The shape stepped through, becoming clearer, forming –

“Yennefer, for fucks sake!” The portal disappeared, leaving Yennefer standing with a couple of bags in the middle of the hallway. She was wearing a long black dress with a thick fur coat over the top. Jaskier’s heart kept beating rapidly in his chest as he sighed in relief and frustration.

“Honestly, do you have to make such a grand and dramatic entrance every time you show up? I’d prefer not to have another heart attack, I might not make it!”

Yennefer smirked. “Shame.” She definitely looked worse for wear than the last time he’d seen her, paler, shakier, darker circles under her eyes; but still almost exactly the same. She never changed, Yen.

Jaskier rolled his eyes, unable to keep the fondness from his expression. Geralt suddenly came pounding up the stairs, armed with a sword. He immediately stopped when he saw who it was, and visibly relaxed. “Yen.”

She smiled as she turned towards him. “Geralt.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “A little warning next time would be preferred.”

“Exactly what I was saying! I don’t think anyone was expecting a portal to open up in the middle of Kaer Morhen!”

Yennefer rolled her eyes. “I didn’t realise I was surrounded by geriatrics with heart problems. I merely came to check you were all still alive, and meet the child.”

Even though her posture suggested boredom, her eyes were filled with concern. Jaskier could parse what Yennefer wasn’t saying from those simple words - that she was worried and wanted to check they were okay, and that she wanted to meet Ciri. She would never outright admit to caring, but Jaskier knew better by now.

“Let’s all head downstairs, shall we?” He started walking towards the stairs so that he could brook no argument. He could hear Geralt and Yennefer follow after, conversing.

“How are you, Yen?”

“Surviving, mostly. Others weren’t so lucky.” Yen said darkly.

“Is Triss-”

“She’s okay.” They fell silent as Jaskier reached the bottom step.

Jaskier reached the main hall, where Eskel and Lambert were milling about still holding their swords, looking tense and confused. “It’s all fine, Yennefer just decided to pop in unannounced!”

Lambert rolled his eyes and sheathed his sword. “Fucking sorceresses.” He managed to mutter just as Yennefer walked through the door, raising an eyebrow, Geralt following her. Lambert merely grinned. “You must be the fucking sorceress!”

“Yennefer. _Not_ at your service.” She said, plopping her bags down on the floor with dramatic flair.

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Charming, truly charming.”

Eskel walked up with an easy smile and shook Yennefer’s hand. “He’s always like this, you’ll get used to it. I’m Eskel and he’s Lambert.”

Lambert scowled. “And _he’s_ still here.”

Eskel wasn’t swayed by his scowl, grinning at Lambert. “Get some manners, then we’ll let you speak for yourself.”

Jaskier decided to change the subject before they started arguing. “Where’s Vesemir and Ciri?”

“Here! They made me hide in case-“ Ciri cut herself off, her eyes wide as she stared at Yennefer. Then she ran at Yen and slammed into her, hugging her around the middle. Yen looked down at Ciri, stunned into stillness for a second, before she softened and hugged back. Ciri pulled away enough to look up at her, and said, “I had dreams about you.”

Yennefer smiled like Jaskier had never seen her smile before. It was soft and fond. “I did too, sweetheart.”

Ciri smiled back. “I’m Cirilla, but everyone calls me Ciri unless they’re telling me off.”

Yennefer chuckled. “I’m Yennefer. Everyone calls me Yen unless they’re frustrated with me.” Yen smiled as she looked down at Ciri. “Shall we get away from the silly men, get to know each other properly?”

Ciri nodded and they exited hand in hand.

Lambert and Eskel exchanged glances, then looked at Geralt and Jaskier. “Anyone up for another round of hide and seek?”

***

Geralt ended up on the roof again.

From what Jaskier could see from his position in the courtyard as he watched, preferring not to get attacked or body-slammed, the rules were much different for Witcher hide and seek. For one, they could move throughout the keep at will, but preferred to stay outside where they had walls to climb and roofs to hop over, obstacles to play with. They only got caught once the seeker made physical contact with them, of any kind. They could use any and all skills to their advantage. Eskel’s extra skills with his signs and Geralt’s extra mutations presented challenges for Lambert, but his athleticism allowed him to work through those challenges. Eskel got caught after Lambert executed a perfect dive-roll off the outer wall and slammed bodily into Eskel’s retreating form, leaving them a wrestling ball of flying limbs.

Geralt was a particular challenge for Lambert. It seemed Lambert had expected the roof ploy once again; however, once he found Geralt on the roof, Geralt started lightly hopping around, making Lambert chase him. Lambert eventually caught up when Geralt got to a particularly unstable patch and paused, not wanting to risk the integrity of the roof when they would inevitably have to repair it. Lambert yanked Geralt back from the unstable area and tackled him onto his back, which resulted in a wrestling match on top of the roof that Geralt won. However, Lambert was technically victorious, given that the only stipulation for winning was touching those who hid. Geralt pulled Lambert up, grinning.

Then he shimmied his way down a tower and leaped, landing inches away from Jaskier, who let out a yelp. Geralt didn’t stop there, using his many advantages to tackle Jaskier to the ground and pin both hands above his head. Geralt loomed above him, golden eyes sparkling with amusement and pleasure, freer and happier than he ever was on the road. He shook his white hair out of his face and grinned down at Jaskier. It was both arousing and annoying, given that he was grinning because he’d managed to scare Jaskier.

“ _Ye gods_ , Geralt, have mercy on my heart!”

Geralt merely chuckled in response.

Jaskier was helpless against the grin that formed. “Insufferable Witcher.”

Geralt was smiling, one eyebrow raised. “And yet you suffer me.” His eyes were warm and fond, exactly how they’d been when he’d woken up on Geralt’s chest, but blazing with light from the excitement of the day.

Jaskier felt breathless. His heartbeat picked up and he blushed, still grinning. “Gladly, my dear.” They stared at each other for a moment, a moment too long to belong to two friends. Then Geralt seemed to realise the rather compromising position they were in and clambered off of Jaskier, holding out a hand to help him up.

Eskel and Lambert were standing and watching a distance away, both grinning. Lambert called out, “how come you never look at me like that?”

Geralt started walking towards them, Jaskier following. “You’re an ugly bastard, that’s why!”

Lambert’s grin turned downright gleeful as they reached him. “So you think the bard is pretty then, eh?”

Jaskier could swear he saw Geralt blush before he bodily tackled Lambert, another wrestling match beginning. Eskel chuckled and moved away, placing a hand on Jaskier’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s go have dinner. They’ll be a while.”

“Really? After all the rough-housing they’ve already done?”

“Well, they’ll probably have another wrestling match after this one when Lambert takes the first one as confirmation that Geralt thinks you’re pretty. Which it absolutely is.” Jaskier blushed, unable to reply, and Eskel chuckled again as he nudged Jaskier inside.

***

Their days fell into a rough schedule. They trained in the morning, had lunch, then Ciri would train with Yen. Everyone else had the afternoon to complete various tasks, or had time to themselves.

Geralt found himself constantly drawn to the library. Because Yen had arrived, and was assessing Ciri’s capabilities and beginning to help her control her powers, Geralt had free time to do with as he pleased, and he kept being pulled to Jaskier, craving and cherishing the moments they had alone. He loved watching Ciri train, helping where he could, but he could see that Ciri and Yennefer wanted to get to know each other more. After all, Yen wasn’t staying all winter. He knew however that Ciri was working on convincing her to stay for Yule and their feast. Yen also needed more rest, still recovering from the Battle of Sodden, so it would be good for her to stay.

Geralt couldn’t fault Ciri for her request; having lost all of her family and her home meant that this was all she had left. It could be nice to have a Yule feast, something Geralt had never experienced. He’d never had a family to do this sort of thing with. Now, maybe he did. And it was thanks to Jaskier and Ciri.

Besides, Ciri being preoccupied with Yen meant that Geralt had Jaskier all to himself.

He sat across from Jaskier in the library with a book in his lap, as Jaskier continued his copying for Vesemir. He was careful and slow in his writings, and the quietest Geralt had ever seen him, deep in concentration. Geralt loved the way his brow furrowed and he stuck his tongue out as he wrote. It was such a different expression from the calm, peaceful one he wore when he was asleep.

Jaskier hadn’t slept with him since that night. It had only been two weeks, but they were two weeks filled with activity – first, dealing with the atrocious hangover, then preparing the Yule tree for Ciri, then hide and seek and Yen’s arrival. Geralt hadn’t really thought about it until everything had calmed down, except for a brief moment each night when he went to bed and noticed the absence of Jaskier. But now that things had calmed down, it was harder and harder to sleep at night. He felt restless, like something was missing.

He’d said he slept better with Jaskier. He’d meant it - his sleep hadn’t been anywhere near as good for the past fortnight. Jaskier said he slept better with him too. At first he’d wondered if Jaskier had lied, seeing as Jaskier had never come back. But Jaskier didn’t lie - Geralt had smelt it at the time, he could hear his heartbeat, steady and true. Just like his words.

So Jaskier didn’t lie. Geralt watched as he tapped the tip of the feather quill against his lips, then began writing again, his tongue stuck out in concentration. It was adorable, the gesture so very Jaskier _._

Love was frustrating. Geralt had never bothered with it before. He’d never had a chance at anything serious enough to need to work through issues like this. But Jaskier... like everything else related to him, Jaskier was different.

Why hadn’t Jaskier taken Geralt at his words? Or come back?

Maybe Jaskier didn’t believe him. He’d never given him any real reason to believe his words. The first time, he’d woken up from a nightmare. The second time, he was drunk.

Well, he was sober and awake now.

Before he could think through his words, his mouth moved of its own accord. “Jaskier...”

Jaskier looked up from his writing. “Mm?”

“I...” Geralt frowned, trying to get his mouth working. “I meant what I said.”

“About...” Jaskier said, puzzled.

“Sleeping better. When you’re there.” _Gods_. He huffed in frustration at his own inept brain. “I just... I meant it. And if you meant it, too, it would be... good. I’d like it.”

Jaskier was blushing, and he was staring at Geralt, wide eyed, not speaking. _Shit_ , what if Jaskier had changed his mind?

Geralt backtracked hastily. “If you don’t want that anymore-“

“No! I do, I mean. I meant it. Mean it. I’d like that too. That would be... nice.” Jaskier’s blush intensified, but he softly smiled at Geralt. His heart did a little flip in his chest.

“Good.” He went back to reading his book, nervous but hopeful.

***

That night Geralt watched Jaskier dance around the main hall, playing his lute, as Ciri danced around with Yen. His blue eyes were blazing, his cheeks were flushed, and his top two buttons on his shirt were undone, revealing the chest hair underneath. He looked like a forest spirit or one of the fae; wild and free, dancing to music of his own making, enchanting the world with his words, spreading magic and mischief. Geralt’s stomach was twisting with nerves, despite the warmth he felt when watching Jaskier in his element. Time could only tell as to whether Jaskier would take him up on it.

Jaskier finished the song with a flourish, and Ciri struck a final pose, both her and Yen laughing. Both of them were breathing heavily, and Geralt could smell their happiness as they hugged, smiling at each other.

Ciri slumped down into her seat, next to Geralt’s, and yawned. Geralt smiled, and leaned over to stroke her hair. She smiled up at him, and immediately got up from hers to sit on his lap. He chuckled and held her close. Another person that never feared him. Geralt loved her. She yawned again, tucking her head under his chin, against his chest. “Bed, cub?”

She yawned again and looked up at him, frowning a bit. “Why must I always be tired? I want to stay awake like you do!”

Yen answered as she sat down in her chair, taking a sip from her wine glass. “Because you are a growing girl, who has spent most of her time awake training.”

Jaskier joined in. “Yes, whereas we are all old and have nothing better to do.”

Yen chuckled. “Except for drink and dance.”

Ciri looked up at Geralt again. “Why don’t you dance?”

Lambert snorted from his armchair. “Because he’d look like a pigeon with only one leg.”

Eskel nodded, eyes dancing with mirth. “Or maybe a goat trying to climb a steep mountainside. Athletic, but no finesse.”

Jaskier laughed from beside Geralt. “While these are all truly beautiful images you’re all conjuring, and I mean truly _beautiful_ , I’m sure it’s time we get the cub to bed. Why don’t I go up with you two and play you some lullabies, Ciri?” Jaskier smiled at Ciri and Geralt, and his heart practically somersaulted. Jaskier was saying _yes_. He could see it in his eyes, ablaze with something almost unnameable. The twisting in his stomach calmed down, and Geralt’s nerves shifted from anxiety to anticipation.

Ciri smiled sleepily. “Yes, please,” yawning at the end of her sentence. Without another word, Geralt collected her and stood up, cradling Ciri to his chest. Ciri waved sleepily at the room, and everyone mumbled their goodbyes to her. Jaskier swung his lute onto his shoulder and led the way out.

In Ciri’s room, Jaskier sat on the chair next to the bed, while Geralt tucked Ciri in and sat on the edge of the bed next to her.

“What lullaby would you like tonight, my lovely lioness?”

Ciri yawned and mumbled, “the lion cub and the wolf pack, please.”

Geralt smiled. This lullaby was Ciri’s favourite, and secretly Geralt’s too. Jaskier had composed it as they began their journey afresh in Ellander, as a song to ward off nightmares. Though Geralt could not see himself as some great protector, the hero Jaskier wrote into his songs, this song brought Ciri peace. It made Geralt feel like he was doing something right in his long life, looking after Ciri.

Jaskier smiled fondly at Ciri and Geralt felt warmth spreading through him. “My pleasure, sweetheart,” Jaskier said, and began to play.

_The padding of paws, against the ground as they creep,_

_Claws click against stone as they prowl in their keep,_

_The wolf pack stand watch o’er the cub as she sleeps,_

_Protecting their cub as she sleeps._

_Fear not, my lion cub, fear not the black night,_

_For the wolves will lay waste with their claws and their bite,_

_Against any creature who would give you a fright,_

_Protecting their cub from the night._

_Nuzzle into white fur, of the wolf proud and true,_

_Under trees made of oak, rowan, hazel and yew,_

_Amber eyes shining bright, in the deep cobalt blue,_

_Protected, my darling, are you._

Ciri was asleep within minutes. Geralt stroked her hair as her breathing evened out, looking at his Destiny. How could he have ever thought that his Destiny could be such torture?

It was torturous on occasion, but only when he faced the reality that he wouldn’t be able to protect her from everything that tried to harm her. There were forces greater than a twice-mutated Witcher could battle; heartbreak, sadness, grief, nightmares. Things that bore no physical manifestation. He couldn’t fight those off. But he was determined to be by her side as she faced it all.

Jaskier sighed softly, under his breath, and Geralt looked up to see Jaskier staring at him, eyes fond and warm. Geralt felt his cheeks grow warm as Jaskier smiled gently. He looked down at Ciri again, trying to gain his composure, and failing completely, as Ciri chose this moment to sigh contentedly in her sleep, and Geralt couldn’t stop the soft smile that blossomed.

“She is so precious,” Jaskier said softly.

“She is.” Geralt stroked her hair, and stood up, pulling the covers up tighter around her, tucking her in. She smiled briefly in her sleep, and Geralt softened again. He pressed a gentle kiss to her hair and then straightened up, turning to Jaskier who was still smiling warmly.

“Shall we?” Jaskier said, placing his hand on Geralt’s arm. Geralt felt his chest tighten in anticipation. He nodded, and Jaskier led the way out of Ciri’s room, walking straight to Geralt’s. Geralt felt his chest tighten further, his heartbeat rising. Jaskier twisted the knob on Geralt’s door and walked in, Geralt following after.

Jaskier leaned his lute against a wall and plopped himself down on one of the armchairs by the fire. Geralt busied himself by taking off his boots as Jaskier removed his. Jaskier made an odd noise, and Geralt turned around to see Jaskier flexing and scrunching up his fingers.

Frowning, he walked over to Jaskier. “What’s wrong?”

Jaskier looked up at Geralt as he started absent-mindedly massaging his right hand with the other. “I think they’re tight from all the extra work. I haven’t written with so much concentration since university, I must have been straining and tensing without thinking about it.”

Geralt sat down opposite him, confused. “But you write in your notebook all the time.”

“Very true, but those are scribbles and scrawlings that only I will read, whereas these texts could be read by many people over the years! I want it to be neat and finely written, such important texts cannot be roughly copied, they must be beautiful too!” Jaskier sighed again, looking at his hands. “I just wish I hadn’t tensed so much, they’re so tight now.”

A long-ago memory surfaced for Geralt as he watched Jaskier massage his right hand. Years ago, a fight with a particularly frustrating pack of harpies had taken hours of work – the harpies taunting him and flying away, waiting him out, swooping in, toying with him. Geralt had held his sword for hours, waiting, and his hand and arm were surprisingly tense after. Geralt had shrugged it off, used to tension and being uncomfortable, but when Jaskier had been cleaning him off in the bath, he had felt the tension in his right shoulder and massaged down his arm, even massaging the hand. Geralt had fallen asleep in the tub he was so relaxed.

How he hadn’t realised even then that he was in love with Jaskier, that he was the most important person in the world to Geralt, he didn’t know. Geralt had never had a single massage, let alone _falling asleep_ in the bath while unprotected, completely trusting Jaskier. And his tension had been completely gone the next day.

Geralt swallowed his apprehension. “I could… help, if you like.”

Jaskier smiled. “I don’t think your writing is quite neat enough Geralt, nor do you know how to write Elder text, but I do appreciate the offer!”

Geralt’s jaw tensed as he tried to find words. “No, I meant… your hand. It’s sore. I could… massage it.” _Fuck._ _Excellent job Geralt. Smooth._

Jaskier, to his credit, didn’t comment on the odd phrasing. Instead a blush rose to his cheeks, and he looked at Geralt with his eyebrows raised. “You’d do that?”

Geralt didn’t like that it seemed so hard to believe. “You’ve done it for me before, and it helped. I can…try.” Geralt frowned again. “I haven’t massaged someone before.”

The corner of Jaskier’s lips twitched upwards, his eyes fond. “I’m sure you’ll do great.” Jaskier smiled warmly. “Okay Geralt, massage me!” He stretched out his right hand proudly, presenting it like a courtier would. Geralt snorted at Jaskier’s familiar dramatics.

Well… no time like the present. Geralt breathed in deeply and gently stretched out his hands, grabbing Jaskier’s hand in his. It was warm and the fingertips were calloused from his lute, but they still seemed so soft and fragile in Geralt’s huge hands, even with barely any size difference.

He turned it over, pondering where to begin, then decided to cradle it in his left hand and face the palm upwards. He used his thumbs to begin massaging the palm of the hand.

Jaskier sighed, smiling. He smelt of contentment and pleasure. “That feels heavenly. Thank you, Geralt.” Geralt hummed, concentrating on his task. They fell into silence.

It felt oddly… sensual, this level of physical contact. They were so close to each other. He could feel Jaskier’s pulse under his fingers, the smooth skin on his hands, the lute callouses on his fingertips. He could smell sandalwood and honeysuckle everywhere. Not to mention, directing his strength to something gentle and simple, something so caring, felt really good. It was very different for Geralt. It was so intimate and raw, so trusting.

Jaskier softly broke the silence. “I must say, I did not expect our evening to go like this,” he murmured.

Geralt hummed, agreeing. “Neither did I.” He huffed gently in amusement. “I didn’t exactly plan to offer you a hand massage.” Neither of them broke the silence more than necessary, voices quiet, speaking only for each other in the intimate little cocoon they’d wrapped themselves in.

Jaskier chuckled gently. “I think I rather like this unexpected turn of events. I feel rather spoiled.”

Geralt blushed as he continued gently kneading Jaskier’s hand, his heartbeat racing ahead as he realised what he wanted to say in response. “You… you deserve to be spoiled.”

He chanced a glance up at Jaskier. His blue eyes were almost entirely enveloped by his pupils, and his cheeks were flushed. He looked beautiful as he gazed at Geralt, eyes warm and fond, smelling of happiness, anticipation, and something sweet; something Geralt associated with people he cared about.

Love. Jaskier was looking at Geralt and smelling of love. They’d been moving towards this for weeks, months even, the feeling growing between them, their relationship slowly evolving. And now Jaskier was looking at him in the intimate space they’d carved out for themselves, smelling earnestly of love as he looked right at Geralt.

Geralt felt warmth blazing out from the very centre of his chest, surging through him. He swallowed the rest of his nerves down, and looked Jaskier in the eye, his right palm still enveloped in Geralt’s hands. He could be brave for them, take the first real step.

“I’m not perfect, Jask. But I want… I want to be better. I’m trying. I’ve… never wanted to try before. Not until… until you. You make me want to try.”

Geralt heard Jaskier’s heartbeat racing, and the sweet smell increased. Jaskier gently placed his other hand on top of Geralt’s, and he began to smile, sweet and fond. “I don’t need perfect, Geralt.” He almost whispered, so gentle was his tone. “I never cared about perfect. I just want you. That’s all I need. You.”

Geralt smiled, his body alight. “You have me, Jask. I’m yours.”

Jaskier lifted his left hand to gently rest on Geralt’s cheek, still smiling at Geralt. “And I am yours. Completely, my love.” Geralt’s heart felt fit to burst. Never had he been looked at with so much love and tenderness, called ‘my love’, looked at as if he were something precious, something worth keeping. Jaskier wanted to keep him, and be kept by him.

They both moved closer without thinking, seated on the edges of their armchairs, their faces so close Geralt could feel Jaskier’s breath brushing against his cheeks. He could hear Jaskier’s heart racing. Geralt moved nearer, feeling brave, adrenaline pumping through him. Jaskier leaned forward too, the smell of anticipation and sandalwood and honeysuckle permeating everything. They were now so close that Jaskier’s breath was brushing against his lips. Geralt was practically thrumming with anticipation. He could feel Jaskier’s eyelashes brush his cheek as he closed his eyes, his hand still caressing Geralt’s cheek. Geralt shut his eyes and closed the distance, pressing his lips to Jaskier’s.

Jaskier’s lips were so soft and gentle. He practically melted into Geralt, and Geralt lost all remaining hesitation. He didn’t dare to breathe, so overwhelmed by the feeling in such a tender kiss. He edged closer still, as Jaskier leaned into it, the two of them so close it almost felt like they were one. Geralt brought one of his hands up to Jaskier’s face and brushed his thumb against Jaskier’s jaw, tangling his fingers into the soft hair. Jaskier quietly gasped against his lips and leaned into it, lifting his other hand to grip Geralt’s shirt as Geralt placed his hand on Jaskier’s knee, both of them clutching onto each other, not a care in the world. Nothing else mattered but the feeling of Jaskier, passionate and tender, smelling of love and happiness.

Geralt wanted to do this forever. It was everything he’d hoped for and more. However, the leaning position was slightly awkward and he needed to breathe, so reluctantly he pulled away from the kiss, both of them gasping quietly.

Jaskier smiled at him and gently stroked his cheek. Geralt smiled back, his body on fire, warm and happy. “An incredible first kiss, wouldn’t you agree?” He murmured, lifting his other hand from Geralt’s shirt to brush through his hair. Geralt hummed, too content to speak, gazing at Jaskier. Jaskier lightly brushed his nails against Geralt’s scalp and Geralt’s eyes fluttered close, sighing in contentment.

Jaskier hummed gently. “Shall we move to the bed, darling? I want to be close to you, no horrid armchairs getting in the way.”

Geralt opened his eyes and hummed, agreeing completely. Jaskier stood up and pulled Geralt up with him, gently leading them to the bed, stopping just before it with his back to the bed. Geralt moved forward until he was pressed right against Jaskier, curling his left arm around Jaskier’s waist. Jaskier smiled and placed both of his hands on Geralt’s chest, slowly sliding one up until it brushed around the back of Geralt’s neck. He leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss into Geralt’s lips, smiling softly. Geralt hummed and melted into it, moving his other arm around Jaskier so that he was as close to him as possible, his hand pressed in between Jaskier’s shoulder blades.

They continued to kiss, gently sighing under their breaths, happy and excited. Jaskier pulled away after a time, stroking the hair at the back of Geralt’s neck, gazing at him. “Geralt… I want us to savour this. I’ve wanted to be with you for over two decades now; I want to enjoy every new moment. To take our time, explore this together. Is that… does that sound good to you?”

Geralt smiled. “That sounds nice. You’re important to me, Jask. The most important person in the world to me…besides maybe Ciri.” Jaskier chuckled. Geralt swallowed and pulled Jaskier tighter to him. “I’ve never had anything close to this. Not really. But you make it seem like it’s possible for me to have something as… incredible, as this. I want to experience it with you.”

Jaskier’s hand was soothing and gentle as it continued gently carding through his hair. “Oh, Geralt. It’s so possible. Probable, in fact. I’d even say, ‘definite’. You deserve all of this and more. I’m just so glad that you want it with me.”

“I wouldn’t choose anyone else. I want _you_.” He leaned in and kissed Jaskier, as if to prove his point, and Jaskier happily responded, throwing both of his arms around Geralt’s neck, smiling.

They kept kissing, eventually getting around to lying down on the bed, tangled up in each other, revelling in the closeness. Geralt had never had something so gentle and wonderful, to just get to kiss and keep on kissing. Kissing had always been something that preceded or followed sex. To get to pull Jaskier close and keep him there, no conditions or bargain struck, no endpoint, it was as tender as their first kiss had been. Geralt could smell love and sandalwood and honeysuckle everywhere, and never had he felt overwhelmed for such good reasons.

There was no rush. They had all the time in the world. When they eventually had sex, Geralt was sure it would be everything they wanted. But they could wait. Enjoy the beginning of something incredible.

Eventually they pulled away, Geralt on top of Jaskier. He tucked his face into the curve of Jaskier’s neck and breathed in deep. Jaskier chuckled softly and stroked his hair. They lay there, breathing each other in.

Geralt could feel his limbs relaxing, his eyelids getting heavier, lying content with his ear pressed to Jaskier’s heart. Before he could get too comfortable he lifted himself off Jaskier and pulled his pants off. When he turned back around Jaskier had rolled onto his side, his eyes closed, smiling.

Geralt chuckled. “Come on Jask, pants off. You don’t want to sleep in them, you’ll be uncomfortable.”

Jaskier mumbled, “You take them off,” not even opening his eyes.

Geralt snorted. “I somehow don’t think that fits into ‘taking our time’,” he said drily.

Jaskier rolled over and splayed out on his back, smiling sleepily. “I did it for you when you were raging drunk. Now it’s your turn. I’m not even going to help you, I’m going to be an utterly useless lump and make it as difficult for you as possible,” he said, teasing.

Geralt chuckled and moved over to take Jaskier’s pants off for him. “Why do I feel like this is some sort of payback?” He undid the laces, then moved down to tug at the pant legs. Compared to drunk Jaskier, sleepy Jaskier was a breeze to take pants off of.

Jaskier smiled at him as Geralt managed to pull the pants off, walking over to the desk to fold them over the chair. “No payback, not at all! Besides, you were a sweetheart when you were drunk.”

Geralt smiled as he got into the bed and pulled the covers down, Jaskier manoeuvring until they were lying side by side, facing each other. “Ever since that first night I wanted to sleep with you again. It was the best sleep I’d had in years. No more nightmares.”

Jaskier sat up a bit, leaning on one elbow. “I have been meaning to ask about that for a long time now, actually.”

Geralt frowned. “About my nightmares?”

Jaskier nodded. “Yes. You see, you mentioned that you hadn’t slept well when you first found me again, and mentioned nightmares. Then when we had to separate just before Ciri, Yen mentioned something about them too.” _Fuck._ Yen had mentioned something. Of course she had meddled. Geralt had a feeling he knew where this was leading. “Then, when you woke up from that nightmare, you were checking me over, as if I had been hurt or something.” When Jaskier spoke next, his voice was gentle. “Were they about me?”

“Yes.”

“All of them?”

Geralt sighed. He wanted Jaskier to know about everything. Even if he hated bringing it all up again, he knew he could trust Jaskier with this.

“Yes. I… Last winter I decided I had to find you. Even if you would never want to travel with me again, I knew I needed to apologise for what I had said. I knew the words were harsh and they weren’t true.” He paused, frowning. He hated talking about this again, it had been awful. “When I set out to find you, I started having nightmares every night. I’d had some, every now and then, but once I started searching for you, I was having them all the time. It… you were hurting, in pain, dying, and I couldn’t do anything. Just watch. It was as if I was seeing what could happen if I didn’t find you in time. I’d never felt so… useless.”

Jaskier lay back down and stroked his cheek. He looked sad as he gazed at him. “That’s awful, Geralt.”

“Maybe. But… they made me realise why I knew I had to find you. Why I’d never have peace until I’d tried to fix what I’d done. How important you are to me.” A lump rose in Geralt’s throat, the emotion overwhelming. “And the nightmares don’t seem to happen when you’re with me. I can smell you, and know that you’re right next to me, that I can keep you safe.” He reached out and grasped Jaskier’s hand. “I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you and I could have prevented it.”

Jaskier squeezed his hand in return. “I hated being apart from you too. But we’re here now. Maybe it was all worth it, to show us what we could lose.” Jaskier smiled. “So many words, Geralt! It’s so nice to hear your lovely voice more, I could honestly listen to you talk for days.”

Geralt hummed, teasing on purpose. Jaskier laughed. It felt good to be the reason. He leaned in and kissed Jaskier, revelling in the joy of being able to kiss him whenever he wanted. They pulled apart after a while, but didn’t go far, Jaskier stroking his hair gently. They fell asleep with their hands entwined, facing each other.

***

Jaskier woke completely entangled in Geralt. At some point in the night he had rolled over, and now Geralt’s chest was pressed against his back, with an arm thrown over Jaskier’s torso, the other underneath his head. Their fingers were still linked together, and their legs touching in every place they could possibly reach. Never had Jaskier been so content. This was absolutely his happy place and he never wanted to move.

Geralt made a noise and shuffled even closer in his sleep, tucking his nose into the top of Jaskier’s hair. Jaskier smiled and burrowed down, his thoughts drifting to what was definitely the happiest moment of his life so far. He wanted to savour the butterflies, the shy, fond glances, the beginning to something he had only dreamed he could have.

This was completely different from any other tryst, relationship, coupling he’d ever had. They’d always started with pretty words and flirting, a warm bed and a night of sex, and then more sex over the weeks if he was lucky enough to stay in one place.

This time… this time he was in love with his best friend, the man who knew him best, had saved his life too many times to count, whose life he had also saved on multiple occasions. His travel companion, his muse, the reason for his successful career, the person he wanted to wake up and fall asleep next to every night for the rest of his life.

Geralt was _it_ for him. And Geralt cared about him just as much. Wanted him just as much. He’d finally found where he truly belonged, and it was at this incredible man’s side. He was _so happy_. _Gods_ , he was practically giddy with it, his heart jumping for joy, doing little somersaults in his chest. It couldn’t hurt to make these initial moments last a bit longer before they became completely and utterly wrapped up in one another, both metaphorically and literally.

Geralt started to stir behind him, shifting and shuffling, before he felt a gentle kiss pressed to the back of his head.

He rotated in Geralt’s arms, lying on his back so he could see his face and was utterly devastated by the raw affection there. “Morning,” Geralt murmured, his voice even rougher upon waking. It was both adorable and unbelievably sexy.

He smiled and unlinked his left hand, bringing it across his body so he could caress Geralt’s cheek. “Good morning, my dearest Witcher.”

Geralt smiled, warm and fond, and moved in to kiss him. It was sweet and gentle, tasting of morning breath, and completely wonderful.

Geralt pulled away and stared, golden eyes glimmering as he carded his fingers through Jaskier’s hair. “Jask...”

“Mm?”

“Eskel and Lambert… they will be able to tell-“

Jaskier laughed. “They already know, Geralt. If anything all they’ll say is ‘about time’ and be done with it. With extra swear words for Lambert.”

Geralt looked confused. “How do they already know?”

“Ahh. Well. They mentioned it the very first day I was here. Actually, they made rather lewd references and then Eskel told me they’d already figured it out last winter.”

If anything Geralt looked even more confused.

“Look, they implied I wanted to jump your bones, or rather one specific bone, and then when I asked how they knew, they’d heard a song of mine-” _Fuck, he hadn’t meant to bring up Her Sweet Kiss,_ “-during their travels that year, and figured it must have been about you, and when you were ‘brooding like a vampire’- Lambert’s words, not mine - they put two and two together. Realised we probably both wanted the same thing.”

Geralt was being worryingly silent. Even for Geralt. Then he raised an eyebrow. “Surprisingly smart of them. That makes things easier.”

“You’re not upset?”

Geralt frowned. “Why would I be upset? I might punch Lambert a couple of times for the vampire comment, but it’s not like you did anything.” He paused, looking at Jaskier. “What was the song?”

“It’s one I haven’t sung in over four years now. I don’t sing it anymore. I only sang it the first year, after- well, you know. Then I’d had enough of it, thought it was a bit depressing. I had to refuse quite a lot of people who requested it, actually.”

Geralt hummed, staring at him, still softly carding his fingers through Jaskier’s hair. Jaskier simply waited, knowing he was thinking.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I don’t need to hear it if it makes you uncomfortable, Jaskier.”

Jaskier smiled. “Thank you, Geralt.” He softly kissed him, feeling relieved. His stomach rumbled, seemingly on cue.

Geralt chuckled against his lips. “Breakfast?”

Jaskier smiled and nodded. “Breakfast. In a minute.” Then kissed him again, because he could.

They didn’t make it down to breakfast for another twenty minutes. When they finally stumbled downstairs, the main hall was completely empty. They walked into the kitchen to find Vesemir preparing breakfast. He nodded at them in greeting, and turned back to continue chopping up the apple he was cutting when he seemed to sniff the air, and Jaskier caught a small smile. He continued cutting up apple slices as he said casually, “no point in keeping the fire going in the other room then, save the firewood.”

Jaskier felt Geralt relax next to him, and smile. “Yes, Vesemir.”

“Here.” He handed a plate of food to Geralt. “Wait here, son,” he said to Jaskier as he moved around the kitchen, “let me just cut up another apple.”

Geralt brushed his hand along Jaskier’s as he went to the main hall to eat, leaving Jaskier alone with Vesemir.

Vesemir placed the apple on the cutting board and then turned to Jaskier, staring at him, all pretence of making breakfast forgotten as he leant against the bench. “Be good to him.”

Jaskier swallowed and nodded. “Always. He and Ciri mean everything to me.”

Vesemir raised an eyebrow. “You know it won’t always be easy?”

Jaskier laughed. “Of course not! I’d expect nothing less than near-constant trouble and chaos. I’d be suspicious if it was easy.” He smiled. “That’s why it means all the more to me.”

Vesemir’s lips twitched, another small smile that could be missed if one wasn’t paying attention. “You really are mad about him.”

Jaskier grinned. “Completely. Have and always will be.”

Vesemir turned back to cut up the apple, amusement in his eyes. “Suppose we’ll never be getting rid of you, then.”

“Suppose not,” he said, grinning, his heart soaring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoy my writing, please leave a kudos or a comment, it would absolutely make my day! <3
> 
> P.S. Please feel free to go check out Dates, my modern AU one-shot! It would make me supremely happy! 
> 
> (It was inspired by my own coming out publicly on Facebook as pan and knowing I'll be able to remember the exact date I did that forever. Then I played around with the idea of Geralt having important dates he remembers and Dates happened!)


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